


The Estranged Convict

by xHemlockx



Series: Hogwarts Red & Pure-Blood Silver [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Crimes & Criminals, Dementors, Developing Friendships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Slytherins, Hurt Remus Lupin, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Original Character(s), Parenthood, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Protective Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin Deserved Better and So Did Sirius Black, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 72,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHemlockx/pseuds/xHemlockx
Summary: A self-pitying werewolf, a girl with an overactive imagination, and a criminal barrister try to solve the case of Sirius Black. Between them and the truth lie Aurors covering their tracks, politicians seeking re-election, a Hobgoblin king out for blood, and a long awaited trial.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Hogwarts Red & Pure-Blood Silver [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130294
Comments: 89
Kudos: 124





	1. A Rude Awakening

Remus's skin stretched taut over muscle and bone, his heart beating fast, the rush of blood deafening in his ears.

The restlessness had come out of nowhere, uncompelled and unexpected yet impossible to ignore. The usual suspect hung above the city skyline, a waxing crescent visible even though the stars were not.

Something was wrong.

His fingers stung from the heat seeping through the thin porcelain teacup. His tongue burned and his throat ached, yet he took another sip and then one more after that. The muscles in his back felt like rocks. He could imagine his hackles rising, fur prickling and spine shivering.

He had called everyone he knew—all those who had a phone or a fireplace—but other than some complaints about the lateness of the hour, no one had mentioned anything amiss. All was well.

His hand jerked, and tea sloshed over the rim of his cup, narrowly missing his bare feet.

If all was well, why did he feel like he was about to jump out of his skin?

He poured the rest of his tea down the drain and set the cup on the counter. Treading the cold stone, Remus paced to the floor-to-ceiling window and peered out. If something was awry, he was too far to see it. An ocean lay between him and the life of troubles he had left behind. Even the New York City street was over two hundred metres below.

Remus's mind drifted to that old life, the one that had withered and died nearly twelve years ago. Dread weighed down his stomach like an ugly lump of lead.

Letting out a deep exhale, he rubbed at the knot between his shoulders. _Dead_ , he reminded himself. That life had died, as had the man who had led it. There was no threat there, not any more.

He took a step towards Kali's room, but she was too easily woken. He headed to his bedroom instead, hoping his mind would slow down long enough for him to get some rest.

*******

Sleep had come seconds or hours ago. Remus wasn't sure. What he did know was what had woken him: banging. A series of loud thumps, sounding like claps of thunder in the quiet night.

His sleep-addled mind fought to free itself from the fog of unconsciousness. A loud crash and Kali shouting his name had him vaulting out of bed. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and sprinted into the sitting room before his brain had the chance to process.

Eight men stood in the front room, their wands pointed at Remus, Kali, and Pan. The big dog stood between Kali and the men, his back legs tensed. Kali didn't move a muscle, standing wandless, wearing flowery pyjamas, and at least half a head shorter than the shortest man in the room. The remains of the front door lay in a pile of splinters at her feet. Blood trickled down her cheek.

Remus's jaw clenched and his grip tightened on his wand, but he did not cast the first spell. The glowing city lights seeped into the room through the tall windows, reflecting off the gold insignia of the Ministry of Magic. Each badge was sewn over the breasts of the scarlet robes worn by British Aurors.

The biggest of the men took a step forward, the top of his bald head a foot short of brushing against the ceiling. His wiry black beard hid his cheeks, chin, and most of his short neck, but it couldn't hide the scars that covered his broad face. They shone like white worms in the low light, stark against weather-worn skin.

Remus's gut twisted.

In a voice that could crumble mountains, the big man barked, "Where is Sirius Black?"

The name made Remus flinch. He struggled to lower his wand, fighting to appear non-threatening. With a jerk, he managed to point it away from the intruders, but his grip did not lessen. "In a prison cell in Azkaban."

A small man whose glasses were slightly askew joined the giant. "He escaped earlier today. We suspect you may be harbouring him."

The world turned cold.

Remus's mind whirred, his reality slowly slipping away from him as the words sank in. _It can't be._

"Search the place," the big man bellowed.

His subordinates jumped to it, marching through the flat like soldiers in a captured enemy camp, ripping books from shelves, tearing apart couch cushions, and tipping out the contents of drawers and cupboards.

"That isn't possible," Remus said, watching in a haze as an Auror checked the content of an old music box, one too small to fit a mouse, let alone a grown man. Seeing that Sirius Black was not hiding in it, the Auror threw the trinket over his shoulder. The box crashed against the floor, and Remus turned back to the man in charge. "No one can escape from Azkaban, not even him."

"He managed it somehow," the man who'd thrown the music box snapped. Kali slipped her cold hand into Remus's, and Pan growled too softly for the Aurors to hear. "Where is he?"

"Not here." A rumble tried to sneak into his voice, but he squeezed Kali's hand instead.

The man with the glasses took a step closer. His eyes didn't leave Remus even as his foot kicked the music box, sending it skidding beneath the couch just as another Auror tipped the sofa over. "You understand that by preventing the course of justice, you're committing a serious offence?" He cocked his head and smiled as though he were talking to a child. "We know you're hiding him, so you need to cooperate."

"Suspicion and knowledge are unequal terms," said Remus, ignoring the crashing and banging, the ripping and stomping, and focusing instead on the little man who played at being non-threatening despite his firm grip on his wand. "To know, you need proof."

"She's all the proof we need," said the music box man, jabbing his wand in Kali's direction. Pan's growl was now plainly audible, but the man ignored it. "If he's going anywhere, he's coming here."

"To the first place he knew you'd look? Sirius Black is many things, but he isn't stupid."

"Maybe Azkaban turned his brain into soup."

"You're suggesting that a man with soup for brains crossed the Atlantic Ocean without being spotted and arrived here before a group of highly trained Aurors?"

The man's face purpled, and a smell of burning wafted from the tip of his wand. "He escaped, didn't he? Who knows what he's capable of?"

"He. Is. Not. Here." Remus forced the words past the pit growing in his chest.

He hid a flinch as a loud crash sounded behind him.

Field Aurors were an elite, highly-trained team. They had an arsenal of spells to help them track down clues and suspects; they didn't need to tear this place apart, which meant that they were only doing it to prove that they could, to leave their mark and scare Remus into cooperating. They had nothing on him and no idea where to find Sirius.

He took a breath. "I understand the reasons that led your search here. Show me your letter of rights, and my ward and I will stay out of your way."

The bespectacled man blinked his owlish eyes. His smile fell for half a second before he pulled it back. "Sirius Black is a dangerous man. He's murdered thirteen people already and will stop at nothing to achieve his goals. He will sacrifice anything or anyone." His gaze dropped to Kali.

Remus tugged her closer, and the little man's smile grew.

"He'll hurt her, Mr Lupin, without hesitation. I know you don't want that. Just tell us where he is, and we can keep her safe."

Remus glanced at Kali in her pink pyjamas with her sleep-tousled curls and tried to convince himself that Sirius wouldn't hurt her. He couldn't. Sirius was capable of everything. But so were Aurors.

A bead of sweat clung to the bespectacled man's brow. It slid down the wrinkles of his forehead and disappeared in a bushy eyebrow. The heady smell of fear clung to the Aurors like cheap perfume, and the wands pointed at Remus's chest shook.

Remus's hand tightened around Kali's. "If you don't have a letter of rights, I would like for you to leave."

The Aurors searching the sitting room stopped mid-action.

The small man sighed and dropped his head. He gave it a slow, disappointed shake. "I'm afraid that can't happen, Mr Lupin. Recapturing Sirius Black is the Ministry's highest priority. If you don't cooperate, we'll be forced to take you in."

The Aurors shifted forward and formed a circle around Remus, Kali, and Pan. The dog's fur stood on end, adding a few inches to his size. He drew back his lips, showing off pearly-white fangs, and the men closest to him lowered their wands away from Remus, pointing them at Pan instead. Kali jerked in that direction, but Remus held her firm.

"You're a long way from home, gentlemen," he said. "The trip must have been tiring, so let me remind you that without a letter of rights, you have no jurisdiction here. Any action you wish to see through must first be approved by the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Unless you're willing to cause an international incident?"

The Aurors' advance faltered.

When the bespectacled Auror opened his mouth to speak, Remus added, "You may also expect that we will be putting in a complaint with the British Auror Division for damages, injuries, and rudeness. Now, I do believe it's time for you to leave. It is well past my ward's bedtime and mine also for that matter."

The younger Aurors, the ones who had so enthusiastically ransacked the sitting room, fidgeted, lowering their wands and fiddling with their uniforms while the more experienced of the lot glanced toward their superiors.

The big, bearded man and the little, bespectacled one shared a look. The latter gave a small shake of his head, and the former pressed his lips together in a hard line. His knuckles turned white from his grip on his wand.

Remus rolled his wand between his fingers and shifted to get Kali behind him, but with a deep sigh, the big man's posture drooped like a deflating balloon. When he lowered his wand, his colleagues followed suit, although many still wore scowls that barely hid the fear in their eyes.

"We will contact you again," said the big man, his tone clipped and gruff. "Have a good night."

He spun on his heels, his robes swirling around him, and strode toward the entrance, stomping his boots hard enough to leave scuff marks on the marble floor. His team followed him out, shuffling around the broken door. Remus stared after them, his mind a blur of white noise. 

His bones weighed more than dragon eggs, but he forced his wand up to fix the door and set it back on its hinges. Kali shifted beside him and tugged her hand away from his.

"Sorry," he said, loosening his too-tight hold on her fingers. His gaze caught on the cut on her cheek. It wasn't deep—barely more than a scratch—but its tip touched the corner of her eye.

"I'm all right," she said, stilling his hand as he raised his wand.

"Humour me."

She sighed, tilted her face, and released his hand.

If lycanthropy had one advantage, it was that Remus had become skilled at fixing broken skin. He sealed the cut and cleared the trail of blood, leaving behind neither a scar nor a smear.

"Those men," Kali said. A frown dug a dimple above each eyebrow. Her skin had turned pale, but perhaps that was only an impression caused by the low light.

"Were Aurors." A tremor sent spasms through his fingers. He squeezed his hand into a fist and lifted Kali's chin with his other to keep her from noticing. "You're not hurt anywhere else?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. They said Dad escaped."

"I heard."

A book had landed by his feet. He picked it up and smoothed the spine, checking within for bent pages.

"What are we going to do?"

He slipped the book back onto its shelf. His stomach twisted and his heart pounded, but he kept his voice even. "About what?"

"About Dad."

His knuckles rapped against the bookcase, and the wood tore at a freshly scabbed scar. Bile rose in his throat every time Kali used that word. She was a year old when Sirius got himself locked up. He was her father only by blood, and even that honour he didn't deserve.

"Nothing," said Remus. "We aren't going to do anything."

He turned at the flash of bright yellow eyes reflecting the city lights. Pandoran sat at Kali's feet, not moving a muscle as he stared at Remus.

Pan could pass for a regular dog—or whatever animal he chose to take the shape of—but one look at those eyes was enough to tell anyone with any sense that he was anything but. The shape-shifter had settled himself into Remus and Kali's lives years ago, but that reptilian gaze still caught Remus off guard.

Remus kept his eyes on his bleeding knuckles and went to the kitchen. He took a napkin from the roll on the counter and watched it soak up the blood. Kali followed him. He filled the kettle to keep his back to her.

"We can't do nothing," she said as he grabbed his cup from earlier and took another from the cupboard. "It isn't right."

Even using the Muggle method, the kettle boiled too quickly. Remus poured the hot water over milk and tea bags. "There's nothing we can do for him."

"Not if we don't try, there isn't."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. She stood by the door, her arms folded over her chest, her mouth set in an angry line. Sirius's eyes stared back at him. Remus shook his head and swallowed past the bile as he handed her a steaming mug. "He killed people."

She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. "You don't know that."

"Everyone knows that"—he met her gaze in time to see her glare waver—"including you."

"I wasn't there. Were you?"

A familiar weight settled onto his shoulders, and he sagged against the counter. "There were witnesses."

"Muggle witnesses. All they saw was two men shouting and waving twigs."

Kali hadn't seen the first-hand accounts, but she wasn't far from the truth. Eyewitness accounts were unreliable at the best of times, Freyja often said. Memory accuracy was influenced by countless factors, including stress and world view. When Muggles witnessed magic, their minds distorted what they saw to fit with what they knew.

"He was Lily and James's Secret Keeper," said Remus. "He was the only one who could have sold them out."

"Gran always says that the Fidelius Charm isn't perfect. That's why she never uses it to protect her clients before their trials."

Freyja Morrigan's job had put her in contact with more unseemly witches and wizards than anyone should be comfortable knowing. If there was a way past the Fidelius Charm—no doubt involving dark magic—Freyja would know it.

"Voldemort didn't know half of the things your grandmother does. If he had, none of us would be here."

"Which doesn't mean he didn't know how to get past the Fidelius Charm without the Secret Keeper's help."

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose. His tea sat in front of him, forgotten. "If he didn't do it, why did he laugh afterwards?" Remus had arrived at the scene in time to see two Aurors gripping Sirius as they Apparated him away. The sound of Sirius's laughter had echoed down the ruined street where the bodies of his victims had yet to be recovered. "He killed all those people, and he laughed. He was still laughing when the Aurors took him away."

One of her bracelets had rolled up her forearm. She tugged at it and scratched the colourful threads with blunt nails. "Gran says that laughing can be an adverse reaction to stress."

Remus didn't often wish ill on Freyja, but raising Kali would be much easier if her grandmother remembered that the girl was only thirteen, too young for half of the conversations Freyja had with her.

"Mum trusted him."

Remus drank a mouthful of tepid tea.

When his world had fallen apart, Asherah Morrigan had been there to kick his arse back to health and happiness with all the bedside manner of an angry bear. She had given him a reason to get up in the morning. Now that reason stood on the other side of the room, glaring at him with grey eyes that were too much like her father's.

His exhale blew ripples through his tea. "What would you have me do?"

Uncertainty flickered over her face. She opened her mouth, but the words came slowly. "We could go to the UK with Gran. She could get in touch with some of her contacts there."

"And then what? Everyone knows he's guilty. Not even Freyja can convince them to help him."

She blinked, batting her eyelids hard and fast as she looked away. "He at least deserves a trial," she said, so softly that he barely heard. "You may hate him, but you can't deny that."

He couldn't argue with her—not if he didn't want to see that hurt, reproachful look in her eyes. "Go get dressed. I'll call Freyja."

She didn't say anything more, didn't nod or smile at him for giving in, but she did do as she was told. Pan trailed after her, and Remus poured himself something stronger than tea.

 _Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban._ The words played in his head like a cruel, taunting litany.

With a weary sigh and a shake of his head, Remus headed to the study. The Aurors had ventured into here too. Books blanketed the floor, their spines cracked and their pages rumpled. It would only take a flick of his wand to set them all right, but he stepped over them, a perverted sense of warmth washing over him from the fact that, for once, his surroundings looked as broken and dilapidated as he did.

Werewolves did not belong in high-end flats in the middle of Manhattan. Remus, with his scars and threadbare clothes, was often given a wide berth by the building's other tenants. He found a stubborn sense of justification in that and refused to let Freyja buy him new clothes—or at least refused to wear what she bought him because she never listened. He didn't deserve to belong here, and he would not lie and pretend that he did, no matter how much Freyja insisted that he was acting like a child.

He picked up the office phone and dialled Freyja's number.

It rang through three times before she picked up, sounding snappish and ill-tempered. "You had better have a damn fine reason for calling me at this hour."

"Sirius has escaped from Azkaban," he said. Freyja did not appreciate small-talk at the best of times. "Aurors came by the flat a few minutes ago. They thought we might be hiding him."

"Remus?" she said, but who else would it be? "Is Kali all right?"

"She's a little shaken."

A short pause followed. Remus heard the rustling of a duvet and a man mumbling. He almost asked who it was, but there were questions Freyja didn't appreciate being asked and answers Remus probably wouldn't like. He could only hope that Kali would have better taste in men than her grandmother did.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'll live. Kali wants to help him."

"He is her father."

"Barely." He couldn't stop the growl that crept into his voice. "After what he did to us, he doesn't deserve our help."

Freyja hummed through the receiver. "Give me ten minutes. I'll Floo over, and we can discuss it then."

She hung up without waiting for his agreement. Remus downed the rest of his whiskey.

He found Kali with her back to the fridge, a wolf-shaped barrette poking through her dark hair. Remus started to smile, but she didn't look up from the box of cereal in her hands. Words jumbled in his mouth. He didn't know which ones would make her happy and which would make her sad, so he ducked his head and said nothing as he shuffled to his room and closed the door behind him.

He hadn't wanted children. Given his condition, he hadn't let himself consider parenthood as an option, but then Sirius had got a stranger pregnant and named Remus the godfather without consulting him about it first. "It's just an excuse to force you into diaper duty," Sirius had said with a grin that nearly split his face in two. Diapers had been the least of it.

Sirius and Asherah, brilliant as they were, had never had to work to succeed. When parenting hadn't come naturally to them, they floundered, and it fell to Remus and Leilani to keep Kali alive and well. The four of them had learnt the ins and outs of childrearing the hard way.

Kali was a teenager now, and Remus was alone in learning how to handle it. It was a cruel twist of fate that, out of all the parental figures she had known, Remus was the one she was stuck with.

He had barely finished getting dressed when he heard the roar of flames followed by the sharp slap of stiletto heels. Only a handful of people could use the flat's Floo connection, but Remus would have recognised that purposeful march anywhere.

He left his room to find Freyja talking with Kali.

Statuesque and handsome, with the bearing of a person born into power, she dominated every room. Not a strand of grey streaked her dark hair, and no lines marred her face. Remus was half her age, yet if a stranger were asked to guess, they would say that he was the older of the two.

Her dark eyes met his as he crossed the room. She didn't smile or move to hug him or even shake his hand. A curt nod was all he got from her, and he expected nothing more. Freyja's love had always been cold and distant, but it was still far more pleasant than her indifference, which was glacial and unforgiving.

"I'll schedule a trip to London in a few days," she said when he reached her. "We'll be able to do more for Sirius there than we can here."

Thin-lipped, Remus gave her a long look. When she didn't so much as blink, he turned to Kali. "Could you give me a few minutes with your gran, please?"

A sullen twist of her lips was her only argument. Remus made sure that Pan left with her before he focused on Freyja. With her heels on, she was an inch taller than him. He wondered if she did that on purpose—always keeping the higher ground, even physically.

"We can't go to London."

Her gaze travelled over her sitting room, taking in the disarray with a curl of her lip. She drew her wand and set everything back in its place. With a satisfied nod, she sat on the leather sofa and waved Remus toward the armchair across from her. "Why not?"

He dropped into the chair, his shoulders slumping and his legs spread. "Because it'll get her hopes up."

"If we do nothing, she'll never forgive us." Her eyes narrowed at his posture, but she didn't comment. "She's a bright girl. We will explain beforehand that the chances of a favourable result are slim, but even so, we will do everything within our power to ensure that Sirius at least gets a fair trial."

Remus scoffed. There was that talk of a trial again.

The evidence against Sirius had been so plentiful and so irrefutable that the Ministry had deemed that a trial would be a waste of everyone's time. Even Albus Dumbledore, who was well-known for giving second chances, had believed that Sirius was guilty beyond all reasonable doubt. The Ministry wasn't going to hold a trial now, nearly twelve years after the crime had been committed, following the accused convict's Houdini act out of Azkaban.

"Everyone is entitled to a fair hearing, Remus, even the guilty."

Remus nodded, but the movement was stiff. His jaw worked, teeth grinding as he stared at a spot next to Freyja's bare knees. "Do you think he is guilty?"

She leaned into the couch, keeping her back as straight as a plank. "Guilt is a matter of perspective."

"Spoken like a true defence lawyer." Remus almost smiled. "But that doesn't answer the question."

Freyja looked at him for a moment, as a scientist might observe a bug, before her gaze went to the city skyline. "I must say, I never quite believed that Sirius had it in him to betray James. Or you for that matter. He struck me as far too loyal."

"But he did betray us. He sold James and Lily out to Voldemort. He left me—" His voice caught, and he had to swallow hard to keep it steady. "He killed Peter and all those Muggles. He deserves to be in Azkaban."

Freyja studied him, and only years of practice allowed him not to squirm under her appraisal. "Have you truly never considered the possibility that he may be innocent?"

"He isn't."

"Such certainty from a man who dithered over what shape he wanted his bedroom pillows to be."

Remus ignored the jab. "I suppose you think that Voldemort used dark magic to break past the Fidelius Charm."

"Perhaps. The Infidelius Curse often results in the death of either the caster or Secret Keeper, but the Inritum Facio ritual is arcane yet simple. The sacrifice need only be fresh."

His stomach lurched. “What kind of sacrifice?” She didn’t blink, and Remus shook his head. “Never mind.”

Fingers tapping against the arm of the sofa, she pursed her lips. "Of course, to perform the ritual, one must be in the general vicinity of either the Secret Keeper or the concealed object."

"No one knew that James and Lily had a house in Godric’s Hollow." He stood, uncoiling the kinks in his legs with every pace to and from the fireplace. "So either Voldemort somehow found out about the Fidelius Charm and happened to have an obscure spell capable of breaking it in his arsenal, or Sirius revealed the secret."

"Perhaps." The word sounded like honey and arsenic.

Remus whirled on her. "What does that mean?"

Her eyes shone like obsidian, but she didn’t answer. The urge to jinx something rocketed down his arm, but he threw his hands up instead and forced his jaw shut.

Sirius was guilty. Kali’s convictions and Freyja’s silver tongue could not change that. Sirius had fooled them all. Remus had seen the truth of what Sirius was, first in glimpses and then in a blinding flare, but not even nearly killing a classmate had been enough to make him see the light. His stubborn refusal to open his eyes made him just as guilty of killing Lily, James, and Peter as Sirius was.

“Think what you will, Remus.” Freyja stood and smoothed the creases in her skirt. "I'll get my affairs in order, and Kali and I will leave for England in four days. You're welcome to join us if you wish."

He sighed and rubbed his face. "How long will you be gone?"

If he got the flat to himself for a couple of weeks, he could finish his paper on how Lethifolds interact with Dementors and what the best countermeasures were against both creatures.

Freyja had other plans. "However long it takes."

Remus's head snapped up to look at her. "Kali has to be back at school in September." He wouldn't put it past Freyja to forget about something as trivial as her granddaughter's education.

"I'm sure Hogwarts' curriculum can keep her occupied for a year," she said, heading toward her bedroom.

Remus vaulted over the couch and into her path. "You're taking her away from me?"

She didn’t so much as blink at his sudden athleticism. "As I said, you're welcome to join us. I believe Hogwarts is looking for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor if you're interested."

She sidestepped around him and left him rooted to the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this first chapter grabbed your attention. If it didn't, I'm open to feedback. I always want to improve my writing!


	2. Behind the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Remus Lupin and his goddaughter were rudely woken by a team of Aurors who suspected the pair of harbouring the newly escaped convict, Sirius Black. Remus wants nothing to do with his ex-best friend, but Kali wants to help her father. Kali’s position prevailed when her grandmother sided with her, resulting in a decision to head to the UK.

Charing Cross Road teemed with more tourists than locals—not that Kali was in a position to judge. The Muggles ran down the pavement, underdressed and ducking from one overhang to another. The automobiles' wiper blades worked at full speed as the vehicles trundled along, splashing puddles at whoever walked too near the road.

"I hate British weather," said Gran, eyeing the cloudy grey sky. Raindrops pelted the ground around them, but not a single one touched her or her party even though none of them carried an umbrella.

Remus turned up his coat collar and ran a hand through his hair. His short curls clung to his scalp, sodden from the small tidal wave a passing car had caused outside the airport. "The sooner we get our British Apparition licences validated, the better."

Kali's stomach roiled at the mention. The Muggle aeroplane had made her ears pop and her head spin, but Apparition forced her belly to plummet to her toes and drove bile up her throat.

 _"Unless you're happy walking everywhere for the rest of your life, you're going to have to get used to it,"_ said Pan. His voice rang through Kali's mind with the sharpness of clinking crystals.

He lay curled around her neck as a ferret, concealed in the folds of her hood.

Daemon, Yaksha, Anito, Hyang, Fylgjia, guardian angel … different words from different cultures, all meaning the same thing: a guiding spirit, a shape-shifting being with the ability to bond with a human. The latter part was undeniable, but Pan made Kali doubt the former.

He hissed and headbutted her neck. _"I give you plenty of guidance. It's not my fault you never listen."_

 _"I listen sometimes,"_ she said.

A man wearing wheeled shoes rolled past her. His torso swayed from his swinging arms, and his feet glided over the pavement. He slalomed around people and puddles, keeping pace with the metal beasts on the road.

 _"Only when I agree with you,"_ said Pan.

_"Agree with me more often, and I won't have to ignore you so much."_

The man disappeared around a corner. People pushed around Kali, the tourists in their bright shorts and thin t-shirts, desperate for shelter, and the business people in their sombre suits, hurrying home from work. Remus's blue coat and Gran's red one were no longer beside her.

Her heart jolted like a caged pixie, but she took a breath and rose onto her tippy toes. Remus and Gran towered over the crowd a few metres ahead.

She ran to catch up with her guardians' long legs. Pan gripped her hair between clawed digits, his lower body bumping over her shoulder and sliding down the back of her coat. Remus and Gran stopped at a tall post with a red man glowing atop it. Kali stopped beside them in time for Remus to glance down at her. She steadied her breathing, and his green eyes didn't linger.

Pan crawled back onto his perch. _"A little more warning next time would be nice."_

Her apology came with a shrug that threw his balance, earning herself the sting of sharp claws scratching over her collarbone.

A crowd gathered around her. Everyone faced the road, tapping their heels and checking their watches. Kali peeked around Gran's back. The big Muggle vehicles streamed over the street, a long fast-moving procession. A few people darted between them, raising their hands in waves or rude gestures. The slower runners made the metal beasts screech and bellow. Kali's eyes fell to Gran's heels. She tried to remember the last time she'd seen her grandmother run, but nothing came to mind.

The red man atop the post turned green, and the crowd surged, buffeting Kali across the road. A boy trotted beside her, his brow set and his nose wrinkled. He came nose to armpit with the woman in front of him, but the throng was too thick for him to move away. The man behind Kali stumbled, shoving her against Remus, whose arm went around her shoulders.

Halfway across the road, Kali's group met people going in the opposite direction, creating a countercurrent of jostling elbows. The boy beside her got caught in the eddy, but Remus pulled Kali away from it.

Her breath puffed when her feet hit the pavement. She glanced over her shoulder at the people now running to get across the road. The street looked narrower from here.

Remus kept his arm around her shoulders, cocooning Pan and steering Kali towards an old building with a weather-worn door that sagged on its hinges. Above the door, a small sign read, 'The Leaky Cauldron'.

Muggles walked past without sparing the pub a glance. If they could have seen through the concealment charms, they might have given it a wider berth. Centuries' worth of soot and pollution had turned the Leaky Cauldron's stony facade black and grimy. Pockmarks darkened its timber frame, and its uneven brick wall slanted inwards in the middle like a person holding in their tummy.

It didn't look like a gateway to the magical world. Then again, Kali supposed that was the point.

Remus paused at the door. He stared at the termite-eaten wood and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Flakes of skin peeled from the abused flesh, and a cut on the right side of his mouth threatened to start bleeding again.

Gran leaned in and whispered something to him. His eyes flicked to her, his eyebrows scrunched in a glare, but Gran only waved towards the door. Huffing a sigh, Remus yanked it open and barrelled in.

The inside of the pub was as gloomy and shabby as the exterior. Dirt and water stains coated the high windows, trapping the large room in a permanent dusk. Candles and oil lamps chased away some of the darkness, but shadows lingered by the walls and around the pillars, except on the far right where a fire blazed. The flames fought against the chill and the damp, but every few minutes, they flared the sickly green of the Floo Network, casting an eerie glow over the room and turning the patrons into ghouls.

The low lighting might have been deliberate—devised to hide the extent of the building's disrepair.

Time had rotted the beams and felled chunks of plaster from the walls. Dust and grime clad every visible surface, so deeply ingrained that not even the most potent cleaning charm could wash it away. Every so often, an owl swooped through an open window to deposit an envelope or package in someone's lap as well as feathers and droppings on the floor. Small claws scratched on wood as mice and rats scurried from one dark corner to the next.

The pub's health and safety regulations hadn't evolved since the sixteenth century, but the patrons didn't seem to mind.

A raucous group of middle-aged men sat in a corner, sloshing their drinks while they shouted and laughed, spilling most of their pints onto the floor. Five older women lounged a couple of tables away, smoking from long pipes that puffed blue and purple mists and drinking from shot glasses that billowed steam. The old bartender served Firewhisky with nimble hands to two girls who didn't look old enough to drink yet threw back the small glasses one after the next without pause.

Everyone turned when Kali, Remus, and Gran walked in. The men in the corner ogled Gran, the girls at the bar made eyes at Remus, and the five old women looked from Kali to the wanted posters plastered on every wall.

A woman stepped from a shadowy alcove and started towards them.

Remus's posture unwound, shoulders dropping and fists unclenching as he let out a long breath. He patted Kali's shoulder, but Kali couldn't see a reason to relax.

The woman's square spectacles glinted in the weak light, setting her eyes afire, and the flames from the fireplace dug deep shadows in her stern bone structure, making the skull beneath her skin stand out.

Kali leaned into Remus.

The woman stopped two feet away. She had to crane her neck to meet Remus's and Gran's eye, but Kali had to do the same to look her in the face. With the fire to her back, her spectacles no longer blazed. "Hello, Mr Lupin. You look well."

"Thank you, Professor. You don't seem to have aged a day."

The professor's thin-lipped, close-mouthed smile smoothed her features and softened her prim expression. "Thank you." Her eyes flicked over him and paused for half a second on each visible scar, her brows scrunching and her smile turning more and more brittle. She melted her frown into a new smile as she turned to Gran. "You must be Freyja Morrigan."

Gran stared at the outstretched hand for two seconds before shaking it. "I am, and this is my granddaughter Kali."

 _"Is she not going to introduce me?"_ Pan muttered, but Kali shushed him.

Blazing glasses or no, the professor's eyes had a fierce gleam to them that made Kali's back straighten.

"Is it Kali Morrigan or Kali Black?" The question came quietly, but in the silence that had enveloped the pub, she could have shouted for all the difference it made. The whispers broke out.

"Did she say 'Black'?"

"As in—"

"Murderer's daughter—"

"She looks just like him—"

"Didn't even know the bastard had a child—"

"She'll turn out like him, just you watch—"

Rocks settled in Kali's stomach, but she kept her shoulders back and met the gaze of everyone in the room like Gran had taught her. "These people won't know you," Gran had said. "If they judge you because of who your father is, they deserve nothing but contempt." Gran's expression of contempt included lifting her chin and peering down her nose at people. Kali's height made that look difficult to replicate, so she settled on what she hoped was a cold stare.

Remus tensed beside her, his skinny torso as hard and unyielding as a steel beam. His teeth ground together hard enough that Kali could hear the scraping.

"Both," she said, wiggling her shoulder when Remus's grip stiffened on it, "but Black is fine."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Remus's hold tightened further.

"Yes, ma'am," she said with the flash of a smile.

The smile caught the professor off guard. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but within a couple of blinks, the look vanished, and her composure fell back in place.

"Very well," said McGonagall. "I have reserved a private parlour for us to conduct our business. Follow me."

She led them away from the still whispering crowd, down a narrow passageway with crooked walls, and into a room that smelled of beer, mildew, and stale smoke.

"Tom will be by shortly with tea and biscuits," said McGonagall. Her clipped tone made her accent sound like a staccato, but away from the crowd, she relaxed, and the rhythm of her voice softened. "Please, sit."

Without the many flames from the main room throwing shadows over the professor's features, she looked younger, but Kali couldn't pinpoint her age. Her black hair boasted no white strands and her face had only a few lines, but her eyes reminded Kali of Gran's.

With a life expectancy of 137¾ years, when the golden years struck, some wizards and witches ended up looking like glorified corpses while others were accused of casting Freezing Charms on their faces and drinking unhealthy amounts of the Shrinking Solution. Gran had done neither as far as Kali knew, and Professor McGonagall, with her stoic posture and frown lines, didn't seem the type to resort to the misuse of magic either.

"Under normal circumstances, it would be Professor Dumbledore handling this interview," said Professor McGonagall. She sat in the faded orange armchair, her eyes on Remus as he, Kali, and Gran squeezed onto the lumpy sofa. "However, your past job experience and glowing recommendation letters convinced him you would be perfect for the position, which makes this merely a formality."

A thumping knock preceded the toothless, hairless bartender, who hobbled in clutching a scratched silver platter. He set it down on the table, smiled at the professor, bowed, glanced at Kali, and left.

The rocks in her belly had turned to pebbles, but the dusty table and battered tray stilled her hand before she tried reaching for a biscuit. Professor McGonagall poured the tea, took a cup and added two spoonfuls of sugar, but she didn't raise it to her lips. Her eyes had found Remus again.

He didn't squirm—living with Gran killed that habit quickly in most people—but he rubbed his thumb over the frayed seam of his trousers, where the fabric had faded almost to white.

"Have you found a place to stay while you're in the country?" the professor asked.

Remus's thumb stilled. "Not yet. We came straight from the airport. Freyja has a house in Oxfordshire, but it will need to be tidied up before we move in."

"You came in a Muggle aeroplane?"

Remus nodded, casting a glance Kali's way. Apparition and Portkeys made her tummy ache, but with long-distance travel the ache spread through her whole body. The last time she'd been on the transatlantic Navigium, the rapid phasing had given her a fever that had left her bed-bound for weeks.

Professor McGonagall leaned forwards. "What was that like, might I ask?"

The tension in Remus's shoulders eased as he discussed the woes and glees of Muggle travel with his old professor. The conversation didn't seem to Kali like much of an interview; it was more like old friends catching up after a few years apart. When McGonagall ran out of questions that could be deemed—at a stretch—work-related, and Remus gave a demonstration of his skill, they moved on to the next matter at hand.

"So you wish to transfer to Hogwarts. Is that right, Miss Black?" asked Professor McGonagall, looking through some of her papers.

Kali sat a little straighter and dragged her attention away from the cracks and holes in the skirting board, through which she could hear the click of little claws against the floorboards as well as the thump and drag of something much larger than a mouse or rat. "Yes, ma'am," she said.

"Your formal education has been quite unique," said the professor, going through Kali's transcript. "Three different magical primary schools. One in Argentina, another in India, and the third in Japan, each attended for only a year. You then studied at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when you were eleven, and last year you were enrolled at the San Francisco Institute of Magic." She glanced at Kali over the rim of her glasses. "Is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Kali couldn't say who was most to blame for her semi-nomadic childhood: her mother who had always struggled to sit still or Remus, whose condition made him run from attachments to places and people alike.

McGonagall returned to her reading, summarising as she went, "Your test results are good, you've taken part in plenty of extracurricular activities, and your teachers have given glowing assessments of your work ethic. You seem like an excellent student, Miss Black. Hogwarts would be happy to have you."

Kali grinned. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome." Professor McGonagall handed Kali a thick envelope of yellowish parchment, on the front of which a purple wax seal bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. "In there you will find your acceptance letter, a list of school supplies which you can buy in Diagon Alley, and your train ticket for the 1st of September."

Kali ran her finger over the wax seal, mapping out the details. Remus shifted beside her, and she caught him smiling down at her from the corner of her eye before he turned back to Professor McGonagall and asked, "Where should she go after the train? Should she follow the first-years to the boats and join them for the Sorting ceremony?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Hogwarts doesn't get many transfer students, but that is generally how it's done. She will be the first to be sorted, and I will announce what year she'll be in when I call her name. Do you have any questions, Miss Black?"

She didn't. As McGonagall packed her papers, Gran invited her to join them for dinner. McGonagall declined, but Gran insisted.

Kali slipped off to the loo while Professor McGonagall paid for the tea and biscuits.

Grime filled the cracks between the lavatory tiles and brown stains covered the mirror because of the discoloured silver backing. Kali tried not to touch anything she didn’t have to.

 _“_ _Do you think Remus is happier now?”_ she asked, drowning her hands in soap.

Pan’s head rested on her shoulder. He stared at her through the mirror. _“No.”_

Bitting back her first response, she shook the water from her hands. _“Why not? He loves Hogwarts. He used to talk about going back there to teach some day.”_

_“He never imagined it like this, though, did he?”_

The hand towel sneezed, so she wiped her hands on her trousers. _“He never imagines any of his fantasies playing out. Remember when Mum signed him up to join a team of archaeologists for his birthday? It would have taken one Floo call for him to organise it himself, but he never would have done.”_

_“So to help him live his dreams, you’re going to take the choice away from him?”_

A ‘yes’ hung on the tip of her mind, but she buried it. She yanked the door open and scrunched her nose when her palm stuck to the handle. Holding the door open with her foot, she leaned over the sink and rubbed another generous dose of soap into her hands.

Something touched her ankle.

It rasped the skin between her sock and the rolled hem of her jeans, sending her heart to her throat and blocking her airway.

Water hit porcelain and sprayed Kali’s dangling hands. Soap-suds trailed down her fingers and burned her torn hangnails. Pan shifted from her right shoulder to her left one and peered down.

 _“_ _That’s a hand,”_ he said.

Her heart left her windpipe to slam against her ribs. Air hissed into her lungs, but before she could wrest her foot into the safety of the manky bathroom, claws sank into her skin and pulled.

Her head hit the sink. Pain burst behind her eyelids like a star. Her hip hit the floor first, and then her shoulder, and then her head. Each jolt rattled her teeth and numbed her limbs.

The hands on her ankle wrenched. She kicked with her free foot and hit air. Pan scratched the back of her neck, body twisting, trapped in the folds of her hood. The tiled ceiling turned to wood. She grabbed the doorjamb, but her soapy hands slipped. Her jacket rucked up and splinters dug into the small of her back.

“Let me go.” She kicked again and forced her head off the floor. There was no one there.

A panel in the wall slid open. Her assailant dragged her through it. Kali kicked and writhed and chocked on the dust she disturbed. Shafts of light streaked through cracks in the walls on either side of her. She grabbed for them, but the breeze blocks rapped her palms and blunted her fingernails.

When the walls fell away, so did the grip on her ankle.

She scrambled into a crouch, and Pan jumped from her hood.

Muggle fairy lights hung from wall studs lighting a space slightly wider than the lavatory. Humanoid creatures covered every square inch. Bigger than gnomes but smaller than house-elves, they stared at her, their dark eyes reflecting the light like dozens of miniature night skies. Hobgoblins.

“What the—”

“Welcome!” The biggest Hobgoblin sat on a child-sized bean bag in front of the brick column of a chimney’s smoke shaft. He wore a dirty brown coat, patched and frayed, with a fur collar and a single shoe through which peeked his long toes. Gold rings decorated his floppy ears and furry fingers.

“I hope my colleagues greeted you well,” he said. His snout twitched, and his sharp little teeth disappeared with his smile. He looked to Kali’s left. “Why is she bleeding?”

Five Hobgoblins wearing dirty, tattered blankets as capes licked her blood from their claws and shook their heads, shrugging their shoulders and mumbling, “I don’t know.”

The big Hobgoblin grunted. “I apologise.” His large eyes and pointed teeth focused back on Kali. “My name is Hob, and I am at your service.”

He bowed as well as he could in the bean bag, and Pan sneered. _“Hob the Hobgoblin. How creative.”_

Kali glanced behind her at the narrow alley between the stone walls. The darkness swallowed every detail.

Hob flapped his ears, making the rings sing. “For your gift, you have earned a boon.”

Kali’s brow quirked. Two Hobgoblins walked past her carrying the forgotten tray of biscuits between them. “A boon?” she asked.

“Information.”

With another glance over her shoulder, Kali lowered herself to sit cross-legged and rubbed her bleeding ankle. “Like Billy Blind?”

Hob’s ears wiggled and his snout wrinkled. “We do not speak of Billy. It is his fault that the Ministry no longer allows Hobgoblins to leave wizarding settlements. He made himself known to Muggles, and for his sins, we pay the price.”

A mutter ran through the Hobgoblins like a cave of shifting rocks. More had joined the crowd. They hung from the walls and beams, a writing mass of small bodies.

“Sorry,” Kali said.

With a grunt, Hob propped his elbows onto his knees. “The information I have is about your father.”

Kali straightened so fast that her spine popped. “What about him?”

A flare of pain hit Kali’s tailbone. Pan yelped and snarled, yanking his tail from a small Hobgoblin’s mouth.

The room kept hissing after Pan stopped.

The Hobgoblins hunched their heads between their shoulders, curling their lips and baring their teeth, sounding like teakettles set to explode. Hob rose from his chair, his yellow teeth gleaming, his snout twisted into a snarl.

Kali swallowed. _“Run.”_

Pan darted down the alley and Kali scrambled to follow. He shouted instructions, telling her to duck or watch her step. Behind them, an avalanche of paws followed.

She bashed her shoulder into a wall but ignored the ache. _“Do you know the way out?”_

_“No. Do you?”_

No. Everything looked the same. Claws racked the back of her calf. She ran faster. Pan shouted, _“Left!”_ and Kali swerved. Strips of light outlined a door ahead. _“Don’t stop.”_

She didn’t. She closed her eyes, scrunched her face, and kept her momentum. The door burst open beneath her weight. She slammed into the opposite wall, whirled and kicked the door shut.

The rumbling of paws stopped.

Her breaths heaving through her burning lungs, she slid down the wall and winced. Everything hurt.

Pan panted beside her, his small chest heaving. _“That’s my quota of danger reached for a year. Can we go home now?”_

Kali snorted and then groaned at the sting in her chest. Pan returned to her hood, and she rose, stumbling to the covered courtyard outside the bar and straightening when Remus spotted her.

“You okay?” he asked. His eyes roved over her and he pulled a cobweb from her hair.

She nodded, slapped on a smile, and stared at the brick wall. Gran pulled her wand from her purse and drew a pattern. An archway opened, and Kali forgot about her aching body.

The rain fell like mist over the dark alley, which was lit only by oil lamps and the light seeping from the second-story windows of rickety old buildings. The only sounds to be heard were the light patter of rain falling onto roof shingles and cobblestones, the flapping wings and soft hoots of busy owls, and the distant yowling of fighting cats. With the bustle and noise of the daytime, the street would take on a whole new appearance, but Kali's first impression of it was that of a dark and hazy dream.

Gran had only been to Diagon Alley a handful of times when she was much younger, yet she knew exactly where the best restaurant on the street was and got them a table, despite the lack of a reservation. The restaurant had a roof terrace, but most people had chosen to eat indoors to avoid the rain. Gran, however, was willing to face the dreadful weather if it meant added privacy. She cast the Umbrella Charm over their table and summoned some floating orbs of light to brighten the gloom.

McGonagall took an interest in the first spell; it wasn't common in the UK, despite how often it rained. That topic started them off on a conversation about local and international magic. Professor McGonagall became more comfortable as the evening progressed. Prim and intimidating though she might be, the professor had a sharp mind and an easy nature.

By the time they parted ways from the professor, night had fallen. The rain had cleared, the owls had gone hunting elsewhere, and even the cats had called it a day. The silence and emptiness of the street had gone from mystical and enchanting to eerie and mysterious. Adventures waited around every corner.

Kali ran ahead of Remus and Gran, jumping over puddles and peering into darkened shop windows, all the while staying well within Remus's line of sight and hiding her winces.

This hidden realm was the size of a small town, stretching well beyond Diagon Alley, branching off into other side-streets and alleyways, expanding outwards right in the centre of London. Kali wanted to explore every last inch of it, but Gran insisted they find a hotel—not the Leaky Cauldron. She refused to set foot in there unless necessary.

They had to leave the High Street to find somewhere that came close to Gran's standards, but calling it a hotel was an overstatement. Wizarding London had yet to catch up with the modern age, so the best they could find was an old-fashioned inn. Gran grudgingly gave it her approval only because she was tired; otherwise, she might have marched into Muggle London and booked a suite at The Ritz or Claridge's.

Frogspawn Inn—perhaps it was the name that put Gran off—could best be described as quaint. The off-kilter bricks made the building lean to the right a little. Mismatched flower pots filled with mismatched flowers rested on every windowsill, and vibrant red of the front door chipped off in places.

Inside the inn, scenic paintings of lakes, mountains, and fields hung from the panelled walls. One little farmer who'd been busy shepherding his sheep, waved at the newcomers from inside his frame and lost two of his lambs, which made a run for it the minute he turned his back. The carpet that covered the tiled floor was worn and faded, and the furniture was well-used, but it was clean and homely, and the woman at the front desk smiled at them with crinkled crows' feet when they stopped in front of her.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope for a suite," said Gran.

"'Fraid so, Madam," said the innkeeper. "But I have some very comfortable adjoining rooms if you'd like."

Gran took her purse from her handbag and set several Galleons onto the countertop. "Three rooms, then, with at least two adjoining."

The innkeeper's gaze widened to twice its size as she eyed the stack of gold coins, half fearful, half hungry. Her voice shook as she said, "That's too much, Madam."

"There's water damage to the ceiling and walls, as well as strategically placed buckets in case of dripping," said Gran, not even looking at the woman as she removed her leather gloves. "The problem is recent, but still you ought to get it fixed."

Kali's gaze darted around the room, taking in these details she had overlooked on her first sweep of the place.

"I can't take your money," said the woman. Her cheeks burned a splotchy red colour, similar to her front door.

Gran tapped her fingers against the counter, following the rhythm of a lullaby that Kali's mother had often sung. "Don't be foolish. You have small children to feed"—Gran nodded towards the family picture hanging on the opposite wall—"and a business collapsing in on itself. Now is not the time for pride. Take the money. I ask for nothing in return."

The innkeeper trembled, but Gran used her no-nonsense voice. The woman ducked her head and handed Remus three room keys. Remus herded Kali and Gran from the reception area and up the stairs.

"You came this close to getting us thrown out," Remus said as he checked the room numbers on the key tags.

Gran shrugged a single shoulder. "I don't see what the problem is with offering money to those in need."

"You're not offering it. That would imply that they can refuse. You're forcing it on them."

"Only because their misplaced pride won't allow them to accept it."

They walked onto the landing and passed a ball of yarn and two knitting needles that were making what looked like a mile-long scarf. The adults continued to bicker. Remus handed Kali her room key so that she could go on ahead and ignore them.

The key stuck in the lock a few times before the mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open.

Kali's nose itched at the lemony smell of cleaning spells, and the bright yellow walls stung her eyes, but breathing through her mouth and avoiding direct eye contact with the wallpaper eased any discomfort. The floorboards groaned when she dropped her bag, and one of them cursed.

She yanked the rucksack up. "Sorry."

The wood kept muttering as she set the bag on a chair, grabbed her toothbrush, and edged her way to the bathroom where the mirror sang her praise off-key while she brushed her teeth.

"Oh, you have such pretty hair!" it said. "And what lovely eyes you have! Keep on brushing those pearly whites, now, you wonderful girl. I bet your smile is to die for! Oh, and that blush warms your cheeks so nicely—"

It kept loudly exalting her features even as she hurried from the room and closed the door behind her.

Remus's footsteps thudded through the thin door on the opposite side of the room, back and forth and back again.

She wanted to tell him to go to bed. He would be up all night tomorrow with the full moon, and he needed his rest. But if she went through there, he would try to convince her to leave, to go back to the States or anywhere else that wasn't here, to somewhere where it was safe and far away from anything too emotionally messy. Her mind was too foggy, her body too sore, and her bones too tired for another argument, so she did her best to ignore those anxious steps.

The mattress sagged when she hopped onto it, the springs squeaking like wind-up mice. She imagined Gran staring at her bed with a wrinkled nose and twisted lips, taking her wand from her handbag and transfiguring the bed into a mahogany four-poster with silk sheets. The spell would fade when she fell asleep, but it was the falling asleep part that she always struggled with.

Kali reached for the envelope on the nightstand and tore into it. The words twirled over the parchment, looping and gliding with the same grace as the Muggle man with the wheeled shoes.

 _"We're going to Hogwarts,"_ she said as Pan prowled one of the dark streets below in search of easy prey. _"We're finally going to see where Remus and Dad went to school."_

He slinked into the shadows at the sound of footsteps. _"Don't get too excited. If the Leaky Cauldron is any indication, this will all go horribly wrong."_

Kali shrugged off his concern. _"We'll be fine. We just have to clear Dad's name. How difficult can it be?"_

Pan didn't have an answer, but his pessimism curled around her heart like cold fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the holiday season and liked this chapter!
> 
> If you want to read another story with Greek mythology daemons, I recommend His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. Reading it as a child, it was magical and enchanting; re-reading it now, it's still captivating, and I can appreciate the themes a little more.
> 
> If you have any thoughts on this chapter—good, bad, or undecided—I'd love to hear them!


	3. Perverted Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Kali Black got her first taste of wizarding London. She, Remus Lupin, and Freyja Morrigan met with Professor McGonagall at the Leaky Cauldron, where Remus and Kali passed their respective job and student interviews with flying colours. Kali kept her hopes up despite the nasty stares and a minor kidnapping.

The rain clouds had cleared by morning. Streaks of sunlight peeked over the rooftops and glittered within puddles as Freyja walked down the street, cursing the cobblestones every time her heels caught in the cracks.

She could count on one hand the number of times she had visited wizarding London, and she hadn't enjoyed any of them. The last had been in 1941, when hastily built watchtowers had dotted the streets, each manned by bored Aurors tasked with vanishing the Muggle bombs that came too near to the wizarding settlement. The sentry posts were gone now, but little else had changed over the past fifty-two years. Truth be told, little had changed here in centuries.

Stepping through these streets felt like stepping back in time, only the sanitation system and general cleanliness were much improved. The breeze smelled of nothing but rain and summer. In that at least, wizarding London surpassed Muggle London.

Freyja turned a corner, her pace slow, yet people darted from her path like rabbits faced with oncoming traffic. "Core tight, shoulders down, neck long," her mother used to say over and over during posture lessons. "This world is made of chaos. Confidence is how you rule it."

A child ran past, laughing and weaving through the crowd. "I'm Sirius Black," he shouted. "You can't catch me."

Two other boys chased him, brandishing twigs and yelling nonsense. One stopped his butchery of Latin long enough to yell, "Stop in the name of the law." He threw his stick over his shoulder and tackled the pretend convict. They rolled, pushing and pulling for the upper hand. Passersby spared them a glance and walked around them.

Chaos hadn't a care for confidence. It _was_ and would remain because the law of nature would not bend to the will of woman or man.

"We can't let her go to Hogwarts," Remus had said last night after Kali had fallen asleep. "It'll be ten times worse there."

"She won't leave this alone, Remus," said Freyja, trailing her fingers through the dust on the bed's headboard and watching Remus pace holes through the carpet. "Besides, the news will reach the rest of the world soon enough, at which point talk will follow her regardless of where she is."

"Not if she changes her surname."

"She won't do that." Kali had inherited too much of her father's stubbornness. "She won't live in the shadow of her father's deeds. You raised her to have a stronger backbone than that." She poured him another glass of Firewhisky. "You ought to be proud."

Remus had continued to mutter and had knocked back over half of the bottle of Firewhisky before stalking from her room. That he had been sober enough to Apparate himself and Kali to the Lake House this morning was one of the few advantages of lycanthropy: an enviable metabolism. He and Kali would spend the day cleaning up the big house and making it liveable after years of disuse.

Freyja had other business to attend to.

The British Ministry of Magic was a sprawling underground building, stretching from Whitehall to Charing Cross Road and burrowing deep beneath the surface. There were several entry points, but Freyja favoured the one behind Gringotts.

A narrow alley next to the bank led to a small garden where marble statues waved as you passed. The walkway wound around trees and shrubs toward a sizeable green door framed by Roman columns and bordered by flowerbeds in which lived a family of Knarls. Two Aurors stood guard and pushed the double door open as Freyja approached and closed it when she stepped into a short, empty hallway, at the end of which sat a lift with delicate gold bars like a giant birdcage.

"Please state your name and business," chimed the lift when she stepped in.

"Freyja Morrigan. I have an appointment with Cornelius Fudge."

The lift doors clanked shut, and Freyja started the slow descent toward the Minister's office—the only place at which this lift stopped. The gate opened onto another short corridor at the end of which was a replica of the door on street level.

A buxom young woman with glossy brown curls pinned on top of her head sat at a cluttered desk next to the door. She rose from her seat and smiled, flaunting a single dimpled cheek.

"You're right on time, Madam Morrigan. The Minister is waiting for you." With a flick of her wand, the door swung open, and she waved Freyja through.

The ministerial office was a heptagonal room with a domed ceiling and a large oculus window, which currently showed a scenic beach on a sunny day. Freyja could almost hear the waves crashing against the shore. Very old, rather ugly portraits took up the rest of the wall space; filing cabinets, armoires, and bookshelves hid some of them. The paintings overlooked a heavy wooden desk that could comfortably seat a giant and a plush, high-backed chair that was equally as large. Two other, far smaller chairs sat in front of the desk.

"Madam Morrigan." Minister Fudge's suit matched the purple upholstery of his seat. "It's a pleasure seeing you again."

She glided across the room, footsteps muffled by the purple rug. She did not take the Minister's proffered hand, but she did return the pleasantry as she sat in one of the proposed chairs. "It's been too long."

Fudge's gaze shifted.

The last time they had seen each other had been over two years ago at her annual Yule Ball, during which she had rescued him from a debate he had been having with Kali. Kali was well-versed in the topic of lycanthropy. Minister Fudge was not. Out of his depth and floundering, his flailing arguments had drawn a crowd. It had not been his most brilliant moment, not that Freyja had witnessed many of those from him. He had declined both following invitations to the party.

"Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice," said Freyja, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her lap.

Fudge's smile wavered at the edges. "It didn't sound like you were giving me much choice." He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and added, "How is your granddaughter?"

"Thriving."

He nodded and rocked in his chair as he scooted forward to rest his elbows on his desk. "I hear she'll be attending Hogwarts this year."

It had taken him less than twenty-four hours to find out that Kali's application had been accepted. "Good news travels fast." She kept her tone detached. Fudge would give away his hand with his bumbling. He always did.

"That it does." He chuckled. "Bit of an odd time to have her change schools, though. May I ask, why now?"

He kept his hands steady on the desk and didn't duck his gaze, but a bead of sweat pearled on his forehead.

Freyja smiled. "Of course, you may, but first, let me say how attractive your receptionist is and how much I look forward to seeing your wife again."

Fudge's eyes widened, and a few of the portraits sniggered.

"Perhaps it would be best if we got straight down to business," he said, the jovial tone so evidently forced that it made his voice squeak.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "How fairs the Ministry's search for Sirius Black?"

Fudge tutted and fidgeted, worrying a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know I can't disclose that information, Madam Morrigan."

Sweat dripped from the little man, making Freyja wonder how long it would take for him to fill a bathtub. "You went to the British Muggle Prime Minister and asked for his help, so I take it that it isn't going well."

With a stiff jaw, his lips barely moving, Fudge said, "The Auror Division has gathered every resource at its disposal and has maximised its efforts to apprehend the prisoner and return him to Azkaban."

An unladylike scoff escaped her. A shudder must be running up her mother's spine. "Oh, I noticed what kind of effort the Auror Division is putting into this case—breaking into homes before the crack of dawn and injuring little girls."

Fudge squawked. The sound bounced off the domed ceiling like the cry of a startled bird falling from its perch. "They didn't intend to harm your granddaughter, and they issued a formal apology for their actions."

"Yes, they were very quick to apologise after Mr Lupin threatened to report the incident." Her gaze flicked to the crumpled newspapers overflowing from the waste bin. "You wouldn't do well with another media scandal on your plate right now, would you, Minister?"

Fudge pressed his lips into a thin line and dropped his gaze to his laced fingers. "What can I do for you, Madam Morrigan?"

She relaxed into her chair, lounging in it as one would a throne. "Once Sirius Black is captured, I would like for the Ministry to hold a trial for him."

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. "What on Earth for?"

"Due process." No amount of commiseration was sufficient for a nation whose leader could not understand that concept. "No matter how guilty a suspect may seem, they have the right to a fair trial. Sirius Black was denied that right twelve years ago. That is an error you are going to remedy."

His mouth fell open as though she'd just informed him that she expected him to dance naked in the streets of wizarding London. "I can't do that."

"Need I define 'due process' for you, Minister? You don't have a choice in the matter."

"Do you not realise what kind of precedent this would set?" He wrapped the loose thread around his chubby finger, tighter and tighter until the digit turned white.

She raised her brows. "Are you saying that Sirius Black is not the only inmate in Azkaban who never received a trial?"

"No," he blurted.

One must learn to choose which battles to fight and which to leave for another day. Freyja watched Fudge through narrowed eyes and said, "In that case, it shouldn’t be a problem."

He shook his head. "The press would never let me live it down."

"The press will eat what you feed it," she snapped. "Frame the story to make yourself out to be the hero if you must. Tell them that you are righting old wrongs, giving convicts who may be innocent a second chance. I don't care how, but you will get it done."

Fudge's chin trembled as he flinched away from her glare. "I can't."

Freyja rose to her feet. Fudge did his best to straighten his spine and stiffen his shaking chin, but he did not follow her lead. He had made that mistake once before. It wasn't easy to seem menacing and superior when you had to crane your neck to look your adversary in the eye.

"I am someone you want on your side, Minister." She straightened her coat and checked her reflection from afar in the small mirror next to one of the filing cabinets. "You will make all the necessary arrangements to ensure that once Sirius is captured, he gets a fair trial. After you have done that, I will help you find him."

"Are you hiding him?" A hint of backbone snuck into his tone. Freyja might have been impressed if it indicated a strength of character and not a desperate search for an easy way out of this mess.

"No," she said, vowing that if any Aurors set foot in her home uninvited again, they would not be met by Remus's admirable restraint. "But as I was able to repeatedly track down Gellert Grindelwald, Sirius Black oughtn't to pose much of a challenge."

Mentioning Grindelwald was no offhanded remark. While Freyja had been heavily involved in that war, Fudge had been only a child, not even of age to attend Hogwarts by the time Grindelwald was finally stopped.

When Fudge looked sufficiently cowed, Freyja spun on her heels. "I will visit you in a couple of weeks to check on your progress."

The door swung open with the barest mental push, and the receptionist jumped to her feet. "Madam, is everything all right?"

Freyja nodded, and then because she felt spiteful, she stopped in front of the girl's desk and said, just loud enough for Fudge to hear, "How would you feel about a change of vocation? I own a string of businesses, mainly hotels. If you would like a more lucrative and fulfilling career with an employer who does not attempt to look down your shirt every time you bend over, I would be happy to arrange an interview."

The girl gaped but took the card that Freyja offered and clutched it between both hands.

Freyja did not glance back at Fudge, but she was forced to stop three-quarters of the way to the lift when one of the many doors lining the corridor burst open.

The man who walked through fell back a step, a smile gracing and then disappearing from his mouth. "Freyja?"

His beard and hair hid the top half of his magenta robes and most of his wrinkled face, bringing out his eyes—the brightest blue Freyja had ever seen. "Albus."

He blinked and replaced his surprise with a smile that grated against Freyja's spine. "I was pleased to see that your granddaughter has applied to Hogwarts."

Freyja hummed.

The problem with Albus Dumbledore was that, unlike Fudge, everything that he had, he had earned—every title and praise; every award and commendation. Lies and falsities seldom worked on him, nor did threats and manipulations, and Freyja was well past the age of enjoying such a challenge.

With a longing glance at the lift, which Albus so discreetly blocked, Freyja sighed and gave him her full attention. "I imagine that given the current state affairs, you'll appreciate having her and Mr Lupin within your sphere of influence," she said.

His smile did not waver, although she liked to think that it became strained around the edges.

The greatest downfall of powerful men was that they underestimated the people around them all the while overestimating themselves. Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not a powerful man, but he was unlike most others. Even after so many years knowing him, Freyja still could not tell if his benignity was authentic or a well-crafted facade. Experience dictated that it be the latter, but evidence contradicted that assumption while simultaneously contradicting itself. Albus Dumbledore was an enigma, and that was disconcerting.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said as though not understanding was a lovely surprise.

"I doubt that," she said, trying to keep any hint of harshness from her tone. Emotions were dangerous. Her mother had taught her that early on. They gave away thoughts and intentions that were of more use if kept secret. But Albus Dumbledore's serene smile and crinkled eyes set her nerves alight. "You cannot claim to be as intelligent as you do, Albus, and then act so dim-witted."

She shoved past him.

A letter from her mother would no doubt arrive within the next few days, with a note on rudeness cleverly hidden beneath the pleasant ramblings of a woman to whom impoliteness sat among the highest of offences. How Lilith Morrigan would discover her daughter's indiscretion, Freyja could not say, but Lilith had a unique talent for knowing when people were doing something they shouldn't.

Freyja turned as she stepped into the lift and spied Albus entering the Minister's office, no doubt for the same reason she had: to discuss the matter of Sirius Black. The closing grate ate her sigh, but the beginning of a headache thudding against her temples would not be drowned out.

If Albus Dumbledore got involved, he would complicate things. He had a skill for getting in the way and not doing as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and a huge thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments!
> 
> On a final note: Happy New Year’s Eve!


	4. Hogwarts Red & Pure-Blood Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Freyja Morrigan met with Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and discussed the matter of Sirius Black, but the Minister was less than forthcoming. On her way out of the Ministry, Freyja ran into Headmaster Dumbledore, someone who had yet to prove himself as either ally or foe.

Platform 9¾ swarmed with hundreds of people. Some wore heavy robes and pointed hats, while others had donned their raincoats and umbrellas. Steam billowed over the scene, veiling anyone more than a few metres away. Rushed conversations buzzed in Kali's ears as parents gave their children last words of advice and extracted promises of good behaviour. Owls hooted, cats yowled, toads croaked, and kids laughed. Perfume, cologne, and sweat assaulted her nose, but the rising smoke overpowered most of them.

A man in a travelling cloak walked past her. The delicate patterns sewn into the fabric swirled and shimmered like a nebula.

_"That's pretty."_

Pan perched on her shoulder as a pine marten. He swivelled his head from side to side, counting animals. _"It isn't too late to go home, you know?"_

 _"We've been over this."_ She tried to ignore the tiny pinpricks as he clutched her earlobe with sharp little claws. _"We're staying here until we find a way to help Dad."_

 _"But that could take ages,"_ he whined. Kali hoped she never sounded that petulant when she complained.

Either accidentally or because he had sensed her unflattering thoughts, Pan's hold tightened. His claws broke through a layer of skin, and Kali winced. _"That eagle owl is looking at me like I'm its next meal."_

She tugged Pan's paw from her ear, letting him grab hold of her finger instead. _"_ _So change into something bigger."_

_"And have to leave the safety of your shoulder only to get trampled? No, thank you."_ Her eyes rolled, and he bit the tip of her finger, adding before she pulled away, _"I've found Remus."_

Kali pushed her senses toward Pan’s. Her eyesight blurred and darkened as her mind shifted, following the electric thread that always played at the edge of her thoughts. With a jolt, the darkness lifted. The world mutated to a new array of colours, reds and blues with subtle shadings that her brain converted to greens and yellows. Pan's eyes pierced the steam and stared at a tall man standing near the front of the train.

Even through the fog, Remus looked tired. Scars cut across his pale skin, and patches covered his robes, yet despite his dismal appearance, Kali grinned and Pan forgot that he didn't want to be here.

Kali changed course, dodging people and trolleys alike. When she walked past the eagle owl, it swiped at Pan, but Pan hissed and dropped into the hood of her jacket as she ducked. She ignored his 'I told you so'.

Remus smiled the moment he saw them. "Have you found a compartment?"

According to Remus, there was an art to finding the perfect compartment, something to do with a gut instinct and a tingling at the back of the neck. Kali had listened as he had explained it over breakfast, his hands trembling and his the words spilling from his mouth like verbal diarrhoea. There had been no instinct or tingling when she had stepped onto the train; she had staked out the first empty compartment she had come across and declared it good enough.

"I still don't see why I can't sit with you."

"Because the minute we get on that train, I become your teacher." He stepped away from the thoroughfare of playing children, leading Kali close enough to the scarlet locomotive that she could touch it if she wanted to.

"You know, I could've sworn you've been my teacher for years now, what with the homework, the lessons, and the lectures."

He sighed and rubbed his forefinger and thumb over his eyes. "You don't have to sit with me, Kali."

She returned the sigh and combined it with an eye-roll. "No, I don't, but I want to."

Neither the sigh nor the eye-roll helped her case. Remus shook his head. "This isn't San Francisco or Ilvermorny. No one knows you here." His gaze ran along the length of the Hogwarts Express, his eyes clouding and his voice softening. "You should try to make friends on the train."

Kali didn't follow his gaze. A swirl of memories played across his face, making her wish that she knew enough Legilimency to get a clearer peek.

When he snapped back to the present, Kali threw on a grin. "You think I'm going to have trouble making friends?" She waved off the concern. "I'm delightful and surrounded by an air of mystery. Who wouldn't want to be my friend?"

Being the new kid came with pros and cons. This time there would probably be more cons than pros, but she didn't want to seem pessimistic in front of Remus, who already had that trait covered. He might have laughed at her assurance, but stress wouldn't let him. 

"People know who your father is here." He wore that same pained expression he always did when he talked about her dad. "They may hold it against you."

"Because he's an escaped convict?" Kali asked. "Why would I want to be friends with people who care about that? I have standards, you know?"

He shook his head and bit down on the inside of his cheek, a habit that had probably left a scar. "I still think you should use your mother's surname while you're here."

"No." She scratched Pan's chin, ignoring how much he agreed with Remus.

Remus sighed again, louder, as though that alone might make her change her mind. On any other matter, it would have done. Frustration wore him down as much as the wrinkles and grey hairs did.

"Kali—"

"They're going to find out one way or another," she said. "At least this way it doesn't look like it's something I'm trying to hide."

His eyebrows low and his eyes downturned, he looked like a puppy being told 'no'. Kali's stomach squirmed, but she kept her jaw clamped shut. The whistle blew just as Remus opened his mouth. Kali had never been so thrilled to hear such a shrill sound going off near her ears.

Parents finished saying goodbye to their children, and Remus pulled Kali into a quick hug. "I'll see you later, okay?" Then he was gone, his long strides carrying him away until he disappeared into the crowd.

Kali exhaled.

 _"On a scale of one to ten, how stressed are you?"_ Pan asked.

 _"It's just a new school,"_ she said, stepping onto the train and into her empty compartment. _"It's not like I'm not used to it."_

Her trunk rested in the rack above her head, firmly wedged between the wall and a metal bar. It had taken some heaving and pushing to get it to fit, and she wasn’t looking forward to forcing it out.

Pan headbutted her neck. _"You didn't answer the question."_

She settled onto the cushioned bench and thumbed the worn fabric. Her insides rammed and roiled like a sea storm trapped inside a bottle, but she turned off the tap to keep it from spreading to Pan.

He jumped from her shoulder, landing with a puff of dust on the cushion next to hers. His fur rippled, lengthening and shifting from brown to grey. His skin melted as his bones and muscles rearranged until a chubby cat sat beside her. He stretched, spine popping and muscles rolling. He would have rolled his eyes too if he could.

 _“Fine. Don’t tell me,”_ he said.

The train shuddered and lurched. Kali’s grip tightened on the seat and Pan’s claws dug into the upholstery. The pistons shrieked and huffed, deafening even within the carriage. Kali threw Pan a look. He flicked his tail. Neither moved until grey light bathed the compartment. Outside King’s Cross, the rain poured, pelting the train with a metallic drumbeat.

Kali loosened her grip and brushed her hands over her trousers. _"It’s supposed to do that."_

Pan snorted. _"This is so dumb. Why can’t people just Apparate their children to school?"_

_"Tradition."_

_"A dumb tradition."_

The city sped past, a distorted mass of grey and beige blurred by drops of water streaking the window. Patches of green snuck in more and more often until they overpowered the rest and the city faded into the countryside.

Pan rolled onto his side, his forehead wrinkled in a human expression that no Daemon in the wild would ever wear. _"Is it the friend thing? Is that why you didn’t eat this morning?"_

Kali folded her arms over her chest. _"I’m not worried about making friends."_

_"Uh-huh."_

She tensed, turning her defensive posture into a self-administered hug. She dropped her hands to her lap. _"You’re my friend. Even if everyone at Hogwarts hates me, I’ll still have you."_

 _"I think Remus is hoping that you’ll make friends that are of the same species as you."_ He uncoiled and rolled to his feet, jumping so that his front paws rested on her thigh.

 _"Overrated,"_ she said and scratched between his ears, short nails digging through soft fur.

 _"I agree, but he sounded adamant."_ He settled on her lap. _"I want you to be happy."_

Kali nodded. She tracked a raindrop as it raced down the window. _"You sound like Remus."_

 _"If only you listened to me as often as you listen to him."_ Catching her hand between his paws, he nipped at her fingers. She laughed and shoved him, but he sprang back, balancing on her knees.

_"I do listen to you. Whether I do as you tell me to is another matter."_

He flopped onto her lap. _"Just imagine how much less trouble you’d get into if you did do as I say."_

 _"Just imagine how much less fun we’d have,"_ she said, poking his belly.

 _"You say that now."_ He glanced at the wall and cocked his head. _"Incoming."_

Footsteps thudded toward the compartment preceded by a loud conversation. "Father, of course, was very pleased," a familiar voice drawled. "He got me a new owl to congratulate me. Not that my success was a surprise."

"Wow, Draco," someone else said. "That's amazing."

The compartment door opened, and there stood Kali's cousin—second cousin, technically. He’d changed in the eight years since she had last seen him. His white-blond hair hung over a bloodless complexion that sharpened his features. The haughty good looks and smug countenance that ran in the family deepened when his frosty eyes fell on Kali.

"There you are." He smiled and slid into the compartment and onto the seat opposite hers. "Father told me that you'd be attending Hogwarts this year, but I couldn't believe it." 

She forced a smile, keeping one eye on Draco and the other on his friends who filed in and filled the compartment to bursting. "Hello, Draco."

 _"If he pulls my tail again, I'll bite him,"_ said Pan, glaring at the blond.

 _"He was five-years-old. I'm sure he knows better now,"_ Kali said, but Pan tucked in his tail just in case.

_"Do you think it would be rude if we slipped out? The big one over there smells like mould."_

There were three 'big ones', two boys and a girl. The girl towered over everyone even when seated. Her wide face swallowed her small features, giving her the squinty-eyed look of the permanently suspicious or the frequently short-sighted. Of the two boys, one was overweight, with a thick neck, a flat nose, and an unfortunate pudding bowl haircut. The other had a bull's build. His small eyes were dull, and his short, bristly hair grew low on his forehead; the smell of mould came from him.

"What are you wearing?" asked one of the remaining three of Draco's entourage. She would have been pretty if not for the scowl.

"They don't wear robes in America," said Draco with a wave of his hand. He stuck his nose high in the air and a smirk played on his lips. "Unless it's a special occasion, of course."

"You're American?" the third girl asked. This one was pretty despite the calculating look she threw Kali's way. "I thought you were British."

"I lived in the US for the last couple of years," said Kali.

Pan gave a short purr that sounded like a dog's growl. _"_ _I don't like any of these people."_

_"What happened to wanting me to make friends?"_

_"There are requirements regarding quality that none of these humans possesses."_ His tail flicked, and he glared at each newcomer in turn. _"None of them has said how cute I am yet."_

She couldn't roll her eyes in front of witnesses who couldn't hear the conversation, so she poked Pan's side instead.

"I always wondered why my father hated America," said the girl who'd questioned Kali's choice of clothing, looking down her squashed, upturned nose. "It must be because of their horrid sense of style."

 _"Rude,"_ Pan spat. _"Want me to give her a fright?"_

A smile curled Kali's lips, but she declined. Pan turning into a Komodo dragon on the Hogwarts Express was the kind of incident that would get back to Remus.

"I wouldn't say it's horrid," she said, and her gaze glided over the snotty girl's green robes with its garish silver patterns. "It's no worse than certain wizards and witches in the UK."

The girl's face turned bright red, clashing with her outfit.

"Well," said the dark-skinned boy who sat in the corner opposite from Kali. He looked arrogantly amused by the whole conversation. "Now that Pansy has attempted to insult her, are you going to introduce us, Draco?"

"Of course," said Draco. "Kali, this is Blaise Zabini." He gestured to the dark-skinned boy. "Pansy Parkinson." Pig-nosed girl. "Tracey Davis." Pretty girl. "Millicent Bulstrode." Big girl. "Vincent Crabbe." Bowl-cut boy. "And Gregory Goyle." Mould boy. Draco made a sweeping gesture and pointed at Kali. "And this is Kali Black."

Pan snorted. _"He didn't even introduce me."_

"So it's true?" said Millicent, her voice loud despite her small mouth. "You're Sirius Black's daughter?"

Pan's fight or flight response crashed through Kali like a tidal wave. Her skin tingled, her heart thrummed, and her limbs twitched. The air left her lungs and came back in short bursts. The compartment narrowed, the walls moving in and the door stretching further and further away. She slammed her connection to Pan closed. It remained in a corner of her mind, a leak instead of a flood. Millicent stared, and Kali nodded.

Tracey leaned her elbows on her knees and peered into Kali's face. "You look like him."

"He should get a medal for what he did—killing all those Muggles," said Millicent.

Kali's mind stuttered. She could have convinced herself that she'd misheard, but a cruel gleam lit Millicent's eyes, her lips twisting into something that was half smile, half snarl.

"Quite right," said Draco. "Frankly, I think what he did was penance for being a blood traitor. Finally renouncing the Gryffindor ways and showing that he's a descendant of the Black line after all. It's a pity he got caught."

Vincent, Gregory, and Pansy added their agreements to Draco's. Tracey nodded hers, and Blaise sat quietly, staring at Kali.

_"They can't be serious."_

Pan's voice wavered. _"They look pretty serious."_

The first and last time Kali had witnessed the anti-Muggle rhetoric was in India six years ago. The protesters had swarmed the Jaadoo Ka Mantraalay to stop the repeal of a Muggle baiting law inherited from British colonialism. They started fires, one of which spread to the school in the south wing. The building burned to ash in two hours. No one got hurt, but Kali's mother decided to homeschool her after that.

Kali turned to Draco. "I like Muggles."

The compartment went quiet, and Pan groaned. _"We're outnumbered by pro-pure-blood elitists. Do you really think now is the time to be picking a fight about this?"_

She gave a mental shrug. _"What better time is there?"_

 _"How about when we're not surrounded?"_ he muttered, shifting to face the strangers.

"Excuse me?" said Draco.

"I like Muggles," she repeated. "I find them fascinating."

Draco blinked. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "You're a … you—"

"I'm a what?" asked Kali with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"A blood traitor." Pansy sneered, and triumph lit her features.

Kali pursed her lips. "That term confuses me." Pansy sniggered, but Kali ignored her. "Shouldn't a blood traitor be someone who damages the magical potency of their bloodline?"

"That's precisely what a blood traitor is," said Blaise. He was the only person still sitting back in his seat, at ease despite the tension that was making Pan's fur stand on end.

"In that case, shouldn't it apply to pure-bloods?" said Kali. "Isn't it pure-bloods who have produced the largest number of Squibs and stillborns over the years?"

The compartment filled with an uproar of "That isn't right" and "What utter rubbish". Kali's heart rate exploded and a rockfall crashed into her stomach. Red-faced scowls pinned her to the bench. Hands rose and fell with eager threats or dark promises. They sat at the edges of their seats, surrounding her and blocking the door.

 _"_ _I told you not to,"_ said Pan, his gaze flicking from one person to the next.

Millicent's voice sounded above the rest. "You can't prove that."

Kali latched onto those words. "A lot of research has gone into it, actually. The way pure-bloods intermarry and inbreed increases the risk of their children developing harmful physical and mental traits that can affect their ability to survive and reproduce."

The compartment went quiet once more.

Gregory and Vincent's mouths hung open mid-protest, their eyes dull and confused. Millicent glared, and Kali half expected her to start cracking her knuckles. Blaise raised his eyebrows, but the amused twinkle remained in his gaze like a permanent feature. Tracey glanced at Pansy.

Pansy looked to Draco, but he sat frozen, so she huffed and tilted her head back, looking down her nose at Kali. "It's because you're not a pure-blood. You'd understand otherwise."

"I'd understand the systematic discrimination of the majority of magical citizens based solely on their parentage?" Kali tilted her head to the side and cocked her brows. "You must have me confused with someone more bigoted."

Millicent lunged. Kali jumped from her seat and Pan leapt from her lap. Her shin bashed against the bench, and she stumbled when her knee buckled, but she stayed upright and swung around Millicent, swiping the bigger girl's legs from under her with a kick. Millicent fell with a grunt and a thud that rattled the walls. She cursed as she struggled to her knees, but Kali grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her back.

Vincent and Gregory scrambled to their feet but only to look from Kali and Millicent to Draco.

 _"First bloody day, and you're already getting into fights. We haven't even got to school yet,"_ Pan scolded. He had misjudged his leap and landed badly on his paw. Ghost pains shot through Kali's left arm, but it didn't sting enough to be a break or sprain.

Kali's muscles burned as she struggled to keep Millicent from wrenching her arms free. _"She attacked me, remember?"_

 _"I told you that we should have left, but you didn't listen,"_ he said, wincing when he licked his paw.

Millicent twisted her arms.

"If you keep struggling, you're going to dislocate your shoulder," Kali told her.

"You bitch!" Millicent screeched, still fighting Kali's hold.

Kali tightened her grip and hitched Millicent's arms further up her back. "I don't like being attacked and insulted, Millicent. I'd suggest you not do it again," she said, using the icy tone she'd mastered from her grandmother.

When Millicent's breathing hitched, Kali released her. Millicent sprawled onto the compartment floor, her face flushed and her eyes glistening.

Kali's gut wrenched. "I'm sorry."

 _"Why are you apologising?"_ Pan hissed. _"She started it."_

_"Remember what Leilani used to say about excessive use of force?"_

Pan scoffed and tried putting weight onto his injured paw. It only hurt a little. _"She's two times your size."_

_"It wasn't a fair fight."_

He scoffed again. _"She's a bully."_

_"If I lower myself to her level, I'm no better."_

Pan grumbled about Kali's morality, but she ignored him. It was easier on everyone to let him rant in peace.

"How did you do that?" asked Draco, wide eyes darting from Kali to Millicent. He'd shifted in his seat, plastering himself against the window. "Did you use a spell?"

"No." She kept an eye on Millicent, Vincent, and Gregory. "I've been taking self-defence classes since I was five." It had been a necessary precaution given the people Gran tended to work both for and against.

Pansy's lips twisted. "Muggle fighting?"

"Yes."

"You're more of a Muggle than you are a witch," Pansy said, her face scrunching.

"I'm plenty of both." Kali flicked her gaze toward her trunk, where her wand rested among her socks. If she jumped over Gregory and Pan distracted the others, she might get to it in time. "I can show off my spellwork if you'd like?"

Pansy recoiled and reached inside her robes, but she didn't draw her wand.

"Perhaps you should leave," suggested Draco. He didn't look at Kali as he said it.

"I was here first," she said, dropping into her seat. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, by all means, get out."

Draco deigned to glance up at her, his eyes angry but uncertain, wearing the same expression he had after the house-elf incident eight years ago. She stared back at him as she had then, with the cold indifference one gave to a lost cause.

Pansy rose to her feet, her nose high in the air. "Let's find Theo," she said. "Hopefully, he's found better company."

Her robes swirled as she flounced from the compartment. Her friends followed, Tracey at a scurry, Vincent and Gregory with a glare, and Millicent with her eyes stuck to the floor.

Draco stopped short at the door. "You want to be careful of whom you make enemies here, Kali. You may regret making the wrong ones."

His eyes could have frozen water, but a wet splodge covered his arm from the window's condensation. All Kali could see was him cowering. He stormed out, and the door slid shut behind him.

Pan sniggered. _"Now there's a dire prediction."_

"Draco likes his theatrics," mused Blaise, still sitting in his corner.

Kali brushed off the wariness that crept over her spine. "This is nothing compared to what he was like when we were younger."

"Oh, I can imagine." He stretched his legs and watched her, dark eyes alight but not warm.

The longer the silence stretched, the wider his wry smile became until Kali couldn't help the sharp edge in her voice. "You may have noticed that your friends have left."

"They're more acquaintances than friends," he said. "You'll find that Hogwarts doesn't offer a lot of choice in the way of good company. They're what I'm stuck with, but you seem more interesting."

It sounded like he was talking about a zoo exhibit, but Kali didn't snap at him for it. He hadn't insulted Muggles when his acquaintances had, and his posture had relaxed the moment they'd left the compartment.

"Flattering as that may be, if you want to stay, you're going to have to stop staring. It's off-putting."

Blaise raised his eyebrows and cracked a smile, lifting his hands in a show of concession as the compartment door slid open. A girl with fine, strawberry blonde hair and a pale, blemished face popped her head in. She retreated when her eyes caught on Kali and Blaise.

"Can we help you with something, Daphne?" asked Blaise.

Daphne shook her head, her gaze on the floor, and said almost too quietly to hear, "We were looking for somewhere to sit."

Kali scooted to make room. "There's plenty of space here."

Daphne's eyes flicked up and down the long corridor, her teeth worrying the side of her lip. After a moment, she nodded and slipped into the seat closest to the door. Another girl came in after her, a couple of years younger, with hair that was that peculiar shade of light brown that turned blond in the sun and got darker during the wintertime.

"Kali, this is Daphne Greengrass," said Blaise with a wave of his hand toward the older girl. "A Slytherin third-year like myself."

"Hi." Kali extended her hand. "I'm Kali Black."

Daphne's eyes darted to Kali's and flitted over her face as if drawing a comparison with the wanted posters. Kali kept her smile on even though it wanted to fall. A blush darkened Daphne's skin, drowning out her blemishes. She took Kali's hand, her grip as delicate as a bird and nodded toward the younger girl. "That's my sister, Astoria."

"Hello," said Astoria, her grin lighting up her dark eyes and sun-kissed skin. She shook Kali's hand with the enthusiasm of one who doesn't know their strength. Her eyes dropped to Pan, who had curled up in Kali's lap again, and her grin grew. "He's lovely."

Pan purred and unfurled himself, jumping from Kali's lap to join Astoria on the opposite bench. _"Oh, I like her. She can stay."_

 _"You're so easily bought,"_ said Kali. "He's a Daemon."

"What's that?" asked Blaise, paying close attention to Pan, as though only just noticing him.

"Well, he's supposed to be a spirit guide, but he's bloody useless at it."

Pan hissed at her.

Astoria's eyes went wide. "He can understand us?"

Kali smiled and nodded. "That's not even his most impressive trick."

 _"What am I? A performing monkey?"_ Pan huffed, but at the same time, he shimmered like hot air over asphalt and transformed into a golden retriever.

Astoria gave a delighted shriek, Daphne sat straighter, and Blaise dropped his mask of mild amusement. Pan basked in the attention.

"You don't see that every day," said Blaise, swallowing and trying to regain his composure.

"Do you think Mother and Father will get me one for Christmas?" Astoria asked her sister.

"That's not quite how it works," said Kali. "Daemons are rare, and unless they're bonded, they don't live near people."

"Then how come you have one?" asked Blaise.

Kali shifted on the bench, bringing her feet up and crossing her legs. "It was a fluke. I was wandering where I was not meant to wander, and he'd got himself caught in a hunter's trap. I got him out, and he decided to stick with me after that."

 _"My hero,"_ he grumbled, lying on his back and getting a tummy rub from Astoria. _"I would have got out of that trap eventually."_

_"Before or after the hawks, eagles, and owls got to you?"_

Pan scoffed and turned his head away from her, but his wiggling body and thumping tail stole the effect.

Kali had lost track of the hiking trail during a trip with Mum and Leilani. Eyesight blurred by tears, she had almost passed a metre by Pan without noticing him, but the vine cage had snapped at her, whipping her feet and emitting a sickly sweet smell that had tingled against her skin and weighed down her eyelids. Disengaging the trap had torn a chunk from the pinky finger of her right hand, leaving behind a pitted scar that ached at the memory.

Pan, having never seen a human before, had run the moment he was free only to smash head-first into a tree and knock himself out.

Bleeding, scared, and with no clue how to get home, Kali had stayed with the presumed fawn to make sure it didn't get eaten. By the time Pan woke, his pack had moved on, fleeing from the poachers who had infested their territory overnight.

"You're so lucky," said Astoria, and Kali blinked back to the present. "What else can he turn into?"

Kali rubbed the lumps and hollows of her pinky and answered, "Any non-magical creature you can think of."

He'd tried to mimic a magical animal once, but his transformation into a Kneazle had stopped halfway through, trapping him between a liquid and solid state. For a week, his nerves had burned, an internal immolation that had purged the affliction from his body and returned him to normal. He was never trying that experiment again.

While Pan entertained Astoria, Blaise turned to Kali. "Draco said you'd be in our year group. What electives are you taking?"

She hadn't had to spare much thought for that choice. "Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Study of Ancient Runes."

"No Muggle Studies?" He smirked. "I thought you were a fan of Muggles."

She shrugged, but before she could answer, Daphne turned to her, her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised. "You're interested in Muggles?"

Kali nodded. "They've learnt to survive without magic. They're fascinating."

"But they're Muggles.".

"So?"

Daphne held Kali's gaze for less than three seconds. As she bowed her head and shrugged, unease crept up Kali's spine. She shook it off before Pan noticed it, but it lingered in the back of her mind. "What about you two?" she asked. "What subjects are you taking?"

"Divination is supposedly an easy class, and if you're there, perhaps Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy won't be as dull as they sound," Blaise drawled.

Kali rolled her eyes, which only made his smirk grow. She turned to Daphne, who was tugging the sleeves of her robes over her hands. "Daphne?"

Daphne startled, and her skin turned pink. "Study of Ancient Runes and Divination."

Putting her back to the window, Kali asked, "What are the core subjects like?"

Blaise spent the rest of the morning filling her in on the inner workings of a Hogwarts education, with Daphne adding a few details. The stream of information poured from them until mid-afternoon, when Blaise said, "Tell us about yourself."

Kali swallowed her mouthful of Pumpkin Pasty. "What do you want to know?"

"Draco said that you moved around a lot. Why is that?"

"My guardian is a researcher who studies dangerous creatures. He does a lot of conferences and sometimes takes on teaching positions. We go where his job takes him."

Daphne straightened. "He's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Kali nodded, and Blaise said, "I hope he lasts longer than the others. Quirrell was useless, and Lockhart was a joke. We haven't learnt how to defend ourselves against a Puffskein, let alone anything dangerous enough to hurt us."

"He's a brilliant teacher," said Kali. "One of the best, and I've had loads to compare him to."

She told stories of the creatures Remus had taught her about, the ones he'd bought to class, and the ones he'd shown her in their natural habitat. The rain thickened as the train sped north. The heavy cloud cover blocked the sun, and lanterns flickered to life along the corridors and over the luggage racks. Then the train started to slow.

 _"Finally,"_ said Pan, stretching on Astoria's lap. _"I'm starving."_

Daphne checked her watch and frowned. "We can't be there yet."

Kali twisted to see the clock hands. It was only 6 pm, yet the noise of the pistons and the rattling of the train fell away, the hammering of the rain and the roaring of the wind growing louder. The train came to a sudden stop with a violent jolt. Distant thuds and bangs sounded up and down the carriage from falling luggage, and then the lamps went out.

Kali tensed as the age-old fear of the dark snapped at her mind.

"What's going on?" asked Astoria, her voice shaking.

Kali took a deep breath and let her eyes adjust to the obscurity. It wasn't easy with so little light, but Pan was good for a lot more than parlour tricks and nagging. Yet even with his much better senses, she could only make out shapes.

"Can I borrow your wand?" she asked, directing the question at everyone in the compartment.

Blaise whipped around, a dark shape against a darker background. "What?" He sounded more concerned about parting with his wand than about the weighty darkness.

"Please."

Daphne's warm hand pressed a cold length of wood into Kali's, and relief lightened the pressure on Kali's chest. With a word of thanks, she flexed her wrist and cast a spell she had seen Remus cast a hundred times since her mother died, for the nights when the dark wouldn't let her sleep.

Golden lights floated from Daphne's wand, dancing like fireflies and filling the compartment with a soft light that chased some of the tension from the air.

"Perhaps we've broken down," said Blaise. He sounded calm, but his heart rate thundered.

Astoria peered outside. "There are people out there."

Before Kali could turn to look out the window, the compartment door slid open. Kali stood, and the fireflies flickered as her concentration wavered. Daphne and Blaise scampered along the bench to huddle by the window with Astoria and Pan. The muscles in Kali's legs screamed. Every instinct she had told her to back away. Run. Hide. But the window was already to her back, the only exit was blocked, and there was nowhere to hide.

A figure towered to the ceiling, a hood hiding its face and a dark cloak concealing the rest of its body.

Kali's stomach dropped.

Beneath the cloth, the thing's skin would look like it belonged to something dead that had decayed in water—glistening, greyish, and scabbed. The Dementor drew a rattling breath.

A cold wind swept over the compartment, and Kali's breath caught in her chest. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Images flashed through her mind, and distant voices screamed in her ears. The cold went deeper than her skin. It was inside her, eating her—

"He isn't here." She forced the words past the ball in her throat, but they sounded distant and weak. The rumbling in her ears deafened her. "Sirius Black isn't here."

The Dementor didn't move. She clenched her fists.

Pan growled. _"What do you think you're doing?"_

 _"Making it leave."_ She held on to her anger; that the Dementor couldn't touch. _"It's corporeal. That means I can hit it."_

_"Don't you dare punch it in the face."_

She wasn't keen on the plan herself, but neither was she seeing any other options. _"Got a better idea?"_

He grumbled, but before she could do more than work up her nerve, he leapt in front of her, transforming mid-air into a Siberian tiger. He wasn't yet fully grown, but those claws and teeth would still hurt.

The air stilled, the wind died, and even the rain quieted. The stillness lasted a moment, and then the Dementor turned and glided away.

The pressure on Kali's lungs eased. She gulped breaths, the trembling in her limbs worsening and the fireflies wavering, dying and flaring with every gasp.

"What was that thing?" Daphne asked in a whisper.

Kali curled her toes, her fingers, her arms, willing the trembling to stop. "A Dementor."

The lights turned on. Kali jumped, and the fireflies went out in puffs of smoke. The train started moving again as though nothing had happened.

"I'll be right back," said Kali. She didn't look back as she stepped from the compartment and slid the door shut behind her. Panicked students crowded the corridor. It looked like the Dementors had visited every carriage on the train in their search for Sirius Black.

She didn't have to wait long for Remus to find her. He strode up to her, and, not caring that students surrounded them, hugged her tight enough to hurt. She returned it.

"I saw Mum and Leilani," she said. The memories stabbed her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to cry, not on her first day, not in front of so many people.

Remus stroked her hair, whispering reassurances, but his heart drummed against his chest and the strain made his voice crack.

"They shouldn't have been allowed on board," she said, pulling away from him. He looked terrible. The full moon was getting closer by the hour.

"I don't think they were," he said. "Dumbledore would never have allowed it. That's why they stopped the train. I'm going to see the driver now, but it shouldn't be long before we get to Hogsmeade. Remember that you're taking the boats with the first-years?"

"I remember." She wasn't looking forward to it in this weather.

"Good." He kissed her forehead and handed her a bar of chocolate. "Here, it'll help you feel better."

He nudged her back into her compartment. Daphne, Blaise, and Astoria all sat quietly, still huddled together and staring into space. Kali sat and broke off parts of the chocolate bar, sharing it between the four of them.

 _"Of course Remus had chocolate on him,"_ said Pan as he curled up next to her.

 _"He knew Hogwarts was playing host to a bunch of Dementors."_ She took a bite, and warmth spread to the tips of her fingers and toes.

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey until a voice echoed through the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train. It will be taken to the school separately."

They barely had time to pull off their jackets or travelling cloaks and slip on their school robes before the train stopped. There was a great scramble to get outside; owls screeched, cats meowed, and Pan turned into a field mouse and scurried into Kali's pocket.

The rain pelted the small wooden platform in icy sheets. Kali turned up the collar of her robes, but the wind drove it down and whipped her hair around her face.

"Firs'-years this way!" called a booming voice, clear even over the sounds of the storm. Kali turned. On the other side of the platform stood a giant figure, at least eleven feet tall and three times as wide as a regular person.

Astoria clutched Kali’s hand, and together they pushed through the mass of people that tried to shunt them in the opposite direction. They were out of breath and soaked to the bone by the time they made it to the man and the crowd of first-years that surrounded him. His mane of shaggy black hair and his great wiry beard gave him a wild look, but he beamed at the new students.

"C'mon, follow me—any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed the man down a steep path. The rain had turned the ground to mud, and Kali nearly fell face-first into the dirt when a little boy skidded into her. She caught herself on a tree and grabbed the boy's arm to keep him upright.

"Ye'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the man called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

The narrow trail turned, and Kali and the first-years gasped.

A lake stretched before them, a fleet of small boats perched atop its inky surface. The warm, orange light of the boats' lanterns rocked in the wind but couldn't distract from Hogwarts. Atop a tall hill, the night sky outlined the castle. Hundreds of turrets and towers blurred by the rain speared the darkness, and hazy lights twinkled from windows like stars.

"No more'n four to a boat!" the man said, and the students obeyed, their feverish excitement thick in the night air. Kali and Astoria slipped into a boat with two other girls, one of whom looked slightly green.

"Everyone in?" shouted the man. He had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARDS!"

The boats jolted, and Kali grabbed hold of the gunwale. Lake water sprayed her face, colder than the rain as the small fleet glided toward the castle, rocking with the waves, guided by unseen magic. When the boats reached the cliff upon which the castle stood, the man yelled, “Heads down!”

Kali had to duck further than the other students. Slimy fingers brushed the back of her head as the boat carried her through a curtain of ivy, which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. The faint moonlight disappeared, and the waves calmed. The water echoed in the tunnel, and the orange light of the lanterns shone off its dark walls.

When the boats reached a cave, the magic guiding them moored them onto the stony shore. Kali clambered onto the damp pebbles and helped Astoria out. From there, they scrabbled up a passageway carved into the stone wall, slipping on loose rocks and coming out, at last, onto smooth, sodden grass in the castle’s shadow.

They stopped in front of the large front doors, and the man knocked three times, each reverberating thud like a small earthquake in Kali’s chest. The doors swung open and standing in the sudden pool of light was a tiny wizard with a shock of white hair.

"The firs'-years, Professor Flitwick," said the giant.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said the professor in a squeaky voice. The top of his head barely reached Hagrid's knees. "I'll take them from here."

He led them into the castle and past a marble staircase that twisted and turned, climbing too high to make out. He spoke, but Kali didn't listen. Her stomach twisted into knots, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to run back to her grandmother’s. The professor stopped in front of another large door. The drone of hundreds of voices sounded on the other side of it.

“Ready?” he asked with a wide smile and a clap of his hands.

Kali exhaled, and Professor Flitwick flicked his wand, throwing the door open. Noise and warmth flooded from the Great Hall. Several first-years gasped.

Four long tables stretched before them, packed with students and gleaming tableware. Candles floated above their heads and above that was the night sky, black and star-dusted above the cloud cover. At the front of the room, on a raised platform, sat the professors, and at their centre, in a bright golden chair, sat Headmaster Dumbledore.

His beard glimmered in the candlelight, sparkling brighter than his star-dotted indigo robes. He watched the new students file in between the House tables, hands steepled, and smiling like a man with a secret. His gaze found Kali’s and stopped there. Even from a hundred metres away, the blueness of his eyes stood out like gems. His smile softened, and he nodded. Kali looked away.

Professor Flitwick made the new students stand in a line facing the House tables and floated a three-legged stool in front of them. On the stool sat a pointed wizard's hat.

 _"Would it kill them to clean that thing?"_ asked Pan. Tucked away in Kali's pocket, he used her eyes to see and grimaced at the dirt and patches, which covered the hat. It twitched, and a rip near the brim opened wide as it began to sing.

Kali tried to listen, but before she knew it, it was over. The sorting had begun.

"When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat," Professor Flitwick squeaked into the silence that followed the Sorting Hat's song, "but before we start on the first-years, we welcome this year a transfer student from the San Francisco Institute of Magic."

Excited whisperings filled the hall.

"Miss Kali Black will be joining our third-years."

The murmurs stopped, and Astoria's hand tightened around Kali's. Professor Flitwick levitated the hat off the stool, and Kali pulled away from Astoria's hold as whispers broke out like little hissing fires.

"'Black', did he say?"

"Not like Sirius Black?"

"That must be his daughter."

"He has a daughter?"

With a deep breath, Kali walked to the stool, ignoring the already fast-spreading rumours. Remus smiled at her from the teacher's table, and she tried to return it. The moment she sat, the hat landed on her head. It slid down her forehead but didn't hide the hall of people craning to get a better look at her. She waited.

"Hmm …" said a small voice in her ear. "Let's see … Plenty of courage … yes, there's a lot of that. A strong moral centre, an admirable strength of will … Loyalty … a lot of loyalty. Resourceful, yes … and clever. Such an odd assortment of knowledge … but there's ambition too … ambition as far as the eye can see. You have things to prove … But where to put you? Hmm … Gryffindor perhaps, or Slytherin?"

A memory of her paternal grandmother flashed through her mind. Half a reality, half a dream, Walburga Black stood in a room of Gryffindor red, surrounded by prancing golden lions. A serpent of green and silver wound around her neck and brought her to her knees.

The hat hummed. "Interesting, very interesting … yes ..." And then it shouted for the entire hall to hear, "SLYTHERIN!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this chapter dragged a little. I can't tell if it's because it follows events from the books too closely, or if it's because I've read through it so many times trying to fix it that it's become predicable. Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas on how to fix it!


	5. Animagus, Animagi, Animagum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Kali Black boarded the Hogwarts Express and made an impression among some of her peers. Her first encounter with a Dementor brought up some bad memories, but she and her new friends didn't suffer any permanent damage. The Sorting Hat hesitated on where to place her, but her subconscious made the decision without her.

Minerva sat at the head table, sipping on scalding tea and staring at the Slytherin benches, her breakfast forgotten.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind of Dementors, fainting students, and Time-Turners, yet it was Kali Black's sorting that had played on her mind all night. After checking on Potter and handing a Time-Turner and its user manual to Granger, Minerva had expected to see Black seated at the Gryffindor table but had instead found her wedged between the Greengrass sisters.

"It only took a minute," Filius had said over dinner. "I expected it would take longer what with her being a couple of years older than what the Hat's used to, but I suppose the Blacks have always been easy to sort, even …"

Even Sirius, the Gryffindor Black whose colours of red and gold had not stopped him from descending into infamy.

Kali flashed a grin at Blaise Zabini. It was Sirius’s smile—Sirius's curls, Sirius's chin, Sirius's eyes. Sirius's child.

Pomona Sprout had won fifteen Galleons when Sirius announced that he was going to be a father. Everyone else on the Hogwarts staff had bet against it given Sirius's penchant, but the universe had aligned into a drunken one-night stand that had forced Minerva to lighten her pockets. She'd known the mother only by reputation: Asherah Morrigan, international Quidditch star, two-time winner of the World Cup.

Lily and James became pregnant later that year, prompting Sirius to natter about joint play dates and James to start plans of fielding a Marauders' Sprogs Quidditch team. Sitting at Order meetings, Minerva had despaired for herself and anyone else who would end up with the second generation of the Marauders on their hands, the Black and Potter duo that promised to wreak such mischief on the world.

That envisioned future never came to pass.

Lily and James died, Harry became an orphan, and Sirius killed twelve Muggles and one of his best friends. The war ended but at a cost, and Kali Black and Harry Potter grew up to be strangers to one another.

Now they sat reunited under one roof, but the distance between their two House tables might as well as have been a thousand miles.

Kali's grey and green tie hung from her neck like a noose. It turned her into exactly what everyone feared she would be, another infamous Black set to become a dark witch sooner rather than later.

She spoke with her new classmates, sitting straight-backed and talking with waves of her hands and tilts of her head, but her gaze kept flicking toward the hissing whispers of students huddled together. Those bright eyes of hers darkened with every glare she received.

Metal shrilled as Severus Snape cut through his sausage and tried to saw through his plate, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the Slytherin table.

Minerva sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Hogwarts needed a quiet year.  _ She _ needed a quiet year.

With a shake of her head and a silent goodbye to tranquillity, Minerva left the Great Hall and followed the teachers' corridor to her office. Her class schedule and lesson plan sat on the desk along with yesterday’s newspaper. Sirius Black screamed from the cover.

He’d often talked about being front-page news when he was a teenager.

The  _ Daily Prophet _ had dedicated an entire section of the paper to unconfirmed sightings of the escaped convict. Another page boasted survival tips on how to keep dangerous criminals out of people’s homes and away from their families. The columnist, Rita Skeeter, had vilified Aurors who had turned down her interview requests and praised those who had agreed to her invasive questions.

Minerva threw the paper into the fire as the flames flared green. The newspaper muffled a curse, and she yanked it out, uncovering Freyja Morrigan’s face.

Freyja pursed her lips. “That was rude.”

“I apologise.” The clock on the wall read 8. “You’re on time.”

Freyja hummed, and Minerva straightened to avoid slouching like a scolded child. As a student, Minerva’s shoulders had never drooped despite the frequent tellings-off, but Freyja Morrigan had a look about her that could cave even a steel spine.

“If you were not expecting punctuality, I can come back later.”

“No, no.” Minerva moved her chair to the hearth, sat, and waved the sooty newspaper. “Have you read this?”

“Yes.” Freyja’s voice curled around the word with a sword’s edge. “One would think we’re at war again.”

The recommended security spells had evolved since You-Know-Who’s reign of terror, but the _Daily Prophet_ ’s layout had reverted to that of those darker times. Sybil Trelawney had spoken of portents while reading the paper yesterday. Minerva had called it sensationalism and left the staff lounge before Sybil could say anything nonsensical.

“Do you remember where you were,” Freyja asked, “when the news broke of Voldemort’s defeat?”

Minerva shifted to hide her flinch at hearing the name spoken aloud and cleared her throat. “Of course. Everyone old enough to remember does.” She had been on an Order mission, disguised as a stray cat, listening to people’s secrets. The deaths of Lily and James Potter was the only pivotal information she’d learnt that day—the only significant knowledge she’d ever gleaned during her missions. “Do you?”

Freyja nodded, shifting the coals around her chin. “At home, preparing for a trial. My daughter called. I learnt the news before the international papers did.”

The celebration had been worldwide even though most foreign wizards and witches had followed the war only with the distant, morbid curiosity generally reserved for human Transfiguration accidents.

Folding the paper, Minerva slipped it into the waste bin. “I apologise for the lack of connection to Remus’s fireplace. I’m afraid that last year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts professor used the Floo so often that he broke it.”

Freyja blinked, slow and deliberate, her only reaction to the ridiculousness that was Gilderoy Lockhart. “That’s all right. It’s kind of you to act as an intermediary.”

“Of course. Our Potions Master, Professor Snape, had the Wolfsbane Potion ready for Remus as soon as the train arrived. It was an easy night for him. Your granddaughter is making friends and adapting to her House.”

“Slytherin.” Freyja rolled the word in her mouth. “Not the House she was expecting. Her owl last night sounded forcibly enthusiastic.”

“It’s a distinguished House and a great honour to be chosen for it.”

“You almost sound like you mean it.” Freyja’s lips twitched, but the hint of an expression vanished as she turned her face, showing the profile of her strong bone structure. “I shan’t keep you. I have an appointment with the Ministry’s Archive.” 

Sirius glared at Minerva from the waste bin.

Her fingers jerked with the urge to push her letter tray on top of him. She clutched one palm with the other on top of her lap instead, but the words left her before she could think to stop them. “Did you know him well?”

Dark eyes reflecting the orange glow of the coals, Freyja turned away from whatever had caught her attention on her end of the Floo connection. “Not as well as you did, I’m sure, but I knew him well enough to know what he is and is not capable of.”

A sting crossed Minerva’s cheeks, the accusation sinking to the pit of her stomach. “You’ve made a career out of defending killers.”

“Every killer I defend receives my services only once. I have a dislike for incarceration and an interest in second chances, no more than that.”

“I’ve read about some of your cases, magical and Muggle. I can't say that many of your clients deserve second chances.”

“Because they took a life? Because human souls are precious and should not be squandered?”

Boredom laced Freyja's words with whips. "The dead will remain dead. It is only the living who require healing. When my clients are guilty, which they are not always regardless of what the media may have you believe, their actions have wounded their souls, not destroyed them. Given the sanctity of human life, do these men and women you would condemn not deserve the chance to heal and atone?” 

Minerva had to swallow past the ball in her throat that Freyja’s tone had created, but she kept her posture straight while doing it. “How many hours did you spend rehearsing that speech?”

The hard line of Freyja’s mouth tilted at the edges, her smile showing more in her eyes than on her lips. “A few. It was part of my closing argument on a manslaughter case I dealt with a few years ago.”

“The verdict?”

Her brows rose by half a centimetre. “You need to ask?”

“You’re among the best at what you do.” Minerva’s posture loosened. She sank into her chair in a way that felt like sagging. “If the Dementors find Sirius, if the Ministry agrees to a trial, if you win ... it won’t mean anything. You’ll defend him whether he’s guilty or innocent.”

“I will, but that won’t make it meaningless. If he’s innocent, he’ll be released from twelve years of wrongful imprisonment. If he is guilty … Have you ever been to Azkaban, Professor?”

The heat seeped from the room as though swallowed by the fire. Minerva grasped her hands more firmly. “No.”

“I went once to interview a potential witness. It was a wasted trip. Azkaban had made the man useless to me.” Her gaze fell to the waste bin. “You know what they say about that place, yet it’s somehow worse. No one with a conscience would inflict that on anyone.”

When Hagrid had returned from Azkaban after being accused of the petrifications of Muggle-borns last year, he had lost weight and his skin had turned pale, but more frightening than his semi-spectral figure had been the emptiness in his eyes, a deadness that had leeched the life from his surroundings. He had only spent a few months in the prison; most people spent years.

“Would you defend You-Know-Who?” Minerva asked.

“Conflict of interest. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“Because he hurt your family, and for that, he deserves to be punished.”

“Yes. To properly defend my clients, I need to be impartial yet on their side. I am the advocatus Dei to the prosecution’s advocatus diaboli. Their job is to demonise. My job is to canonise. I can’t do that if I’m looking for some form of vengeance. Under different circumstances, though, yes, I would defend him.”

Minerva’s tongue grew to twice its size and threatened to choke her. She clutched her throat. “He committed genocide.”

“I would take his case, not to defend the man, but to protest the institution.”

“If anyone deserves to be locked up in Azkaban forever, it’s him.”

“I would argue that no one deserves that. We are violent, revenge-driven beasts, but punishment is not justice. Hurting someone else will not undo the harm done to us. Nothing will other than time. Favouring rehabilitation over incarceration at least means one less soul lost.”

Minerva’s eyes stung. With a sniff, she straightened her spine. “You believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be as good at my job as I am if I didn’t.” She looked over her shoulder again. “I should go. Perhaps the next time we speak, if I haven’t ruined myself in your esteem, we could discuss the debate of nurture over nature.”

Blinking away the undue emotions, Minerva nodded. “Owl me when you’re free.” She rose and brushed dust and ash from her robes. “Be careful around the Leaky Cauldron. I hear they’re having trouble with their Hobgoblins.”

“Little monsters. Nothing that size should be able to cause such trouble, except perhaps cats.” The smile returned to her eyes. “Good luck with your first day back at school, Professor.”

She disappeared in a shower of green sparks, and Minerva stared into the dying flames. That conversation hadn’t alleviated her doubts on whether or not Freyja remembered her. She suspected not because of the shortness of their first meeting and how long ago it had occurred, but Freyja did not smile at strangers.

Minerva’s most vivid childhood memory was of Freyja Morrigan, sixteen years old, dressed in Muggle clothes in wizarding London during the height of Grindelwald’s efforts to quench Muggle authority. Even Minerva’s father, a Muggle, had taken to wearing robes when in wizarding spaces.

Grindelwald's followers had swarmed Diagon Alley and hadn't allowed anyone to leave while they held a rally.

Everyone had stayed silent as witches and wizards without masks had explained the inferiority of Muggles, everyone except for Freyja Morrigan, who had contradicted everything they said in a voice that carried better than theirs. Arguments had turned to threats; words had turned to drawn wands. Freyja, underage and unarmed, hadn’t flinched. 

Albus Dumbledore and a team of Aurors broke through the protestors’ line. In the chaos, Minerva ran from her parents’ side to where Freyja still stood her ground.

“Why did you argue with them?” Minerva asked. “They would have left us alone. They don’t hurt people with magic.”

Freyja had looked down at her for an eternity before answering. “Silence only encourages them,” she said. “If no one disagrees, how are they to learn that they’re wrong? And if no one speaks up, how are others to know that there’s another way?”

It had taken Minerva years to stop hero-worshipping the strange girl who had turned a protest into a riot.

Eyes falling to Sirius’s face, she shook her head and grabbed her lesson plan, leaving the paper undisturbed in the bin.

*******

The third-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws shuffled into the classroom and took their seats, Slytherins on one side, Ravenclaws on the other. Kali Black sat next to Daphne Greengrass, a quiet girl who, up until now, had always sat alone.

“An Animagus,” said Minerva when she had her students’ attention, “is a witch or wizard who can transform at will into an animal. The first recorded person to master this art of self-transfiguration was an Ancient Greek wizard named Falco Aesalon, who could turn into a falcon.”

The students wrote her words on their sheets of parchment with their quills and inkwells; except for Black, who wrote in a large, orange notebook with a Muggle pen.

“It is a complex and time-consuming task to become an Animagus. If done incorrectly, it can go dramatically wrong. As a result, Animagi are rare—fewer than one in a thousand witches and wizards.”

Minerva carried on with her lecture and received the appropriate applause when she demonstrated her transformation into her Animagus form, but she kept looking at Black, whose neon notebook drew er attention like a beacon.

“Miss Black, what can you tell us about the relation between Animagi and skin-walkers?” Minerva asked.

It was not a trick question. Anyone who had studied, however briefly, at Ilvermorny would know the answer, but the girl paused, and a retraction hung over Minerva’s tongue.

“Skin-walkers belong to Navajo culture,” said Black, the words coming slowly. “The belief in these beings holds a central and powerful place in that people’s understandings of the world. It’s much deeper than just a scary story told to children to get them to behave. It’s important to them.”

She twirled her pen and licked her bottom lip. “Colonisers have appropriated and rewritten indigenous traditions, simplifying them and modifying them to fit their world views. Witches and wizards with coloniser origins never took the time to understand the cultures they were invading. They called Muggle medicine men frauds and likened skin-walkers to Animagi because they couldn’t accept that these people weren't like them.”

A disconfirmation replaced Minerva’s thoughts of a retraction.

She had read that the legend of the Native American ‘skin-walker’—an evil witch or wizard who could transform into an animal at will—had its basis in fact. The myth had originated around the Native American Animagi. Muggle medicine men, who feared and disliked witches and wizards for possessing real magic, had spread a rumour according to which skin-walkers had sacrificed close family members to gain their powers of transformation.

“What are your sources?”

“Dr Hayden Kline,” said Black. “She graduated from Ilvermorny with honours and wrote a paper a couple of years ago called: _Native Appropriation in the Wizarding World_. I have it with me if you’d like to read it?”

Minerva nodded but asked, “If skin-walkers are not Animagi, what are they?”

Black shrugged. “It’s not our place to know.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we have to accept that there are things we aren't entitled to know. Skin-walkers fall into that category.”

Damien Chamberlain, a tall, fair-haired Ravenclaw, snorted. “Knowledge isn’t meant to be limited. If these skin-walkers know some special kind of magic, it’s only fair that they share it with the rest of the world.”

Black gave him an even look that he couldn’t hold for more than a few seconds. When he looked away, she glanced at Minerva.

“May I respond?” she asked.

Uncertainty rang like a bell through her mind, but Minerva nodded.

Black turned back to Chamberlain. “Fairness has nothing to do with it. Native cultures have suffered centuries’ worth of erasure and appropriation since first contact, not to mention the genocide of its peoples. If not discussing certain things with outsiders is how their cultures survive, so be it.” 

“None of that is our fault.” Chamberlain folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why we should be discriminated against because of it.”

The corner of Black's eye twitched. “We can’t be held responsible for our ancestors’ actions, but we can make sure that we don’t keep making their mistakes.”

Chamberlain’s sneer did not falter. He opened his mouth to raise an objection, but Black had a glint in her eyes that Remus had often worn. The last time Minerva had seen that look, Remus’s sharp tongue had made a boy cry.

For fear of Chamberlain bursting into tears, Minerva cleared her throat. “That’s enough for one day. For next week, I would like each of you to write a twelve-inch essay on the dangers of becoming an Animagus as well as a detailed explanation of the steps to follow to become one. You are dismissed.”

As her students hurried out, Minerva dropped into her chair. Black took her time packing her things, waiting until only Greengrass lingered by the door before she stepped to the front of the class.

“What is it, Miss Black?”

Black drummed her blue fingernails against the desk, tapping out a melody that tickled the edge of Minerva’s memory. “I’d like to apologise.”

“What for?”

The melody stopped as Black curled her fingers against her palm. “I spoke out of turn with the Ravenclaw,” she said. “Your classroom isn’t the place to be getting into arguments. It was disruptive and inappropriate.”

Minerva blinked. The longer she stared, the more Black shifted, rocking on the balls of her feet and biting her lip. When Minerva managed to nod, Black exhaled a smile.

The girl was halfway to the door when Minerva’s senses returned to her. “Miss Black?”

Kali glanced over her shoulder.

“Five points to Slytherin for your excellent manners and another ten for having taught me something new.”

She grinned Sirius’s grin. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll bring you Dr Kline’s paper next lesson.”

She and Greengrass left for their next class, and Minerva leaned back in her chair. She was getting too old for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in reading more about about the skin-walker/Animagus debacle that flared up a few years ago when J.K. Rowling introduced the concept on Pottermore, I recommend Adrienne Keene’s website Native Appropriations and her two-part article titled Magic in North America. A number of other scholars and writers have discussed the issue, and there’s a bunch of articles online.
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	6. Moving Staircases and Hippogriffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Professor McGonagall had a chat with Freyja Morrigan and took a stroll down memory lane. She also got to know Kali Black a little better during her first class with the Slytherin third-years.

Kali wasn’t sure what had gone through Rowena Ravenclaw’s head when she had decided to make the school staircases _move_.

Hogwarts was huge—far bigger than Kali had expected—and it didn’t make any bloody sense. Nothing was ever where it ought to be and never in the same place twice. The people in the portraits kept leaving to visit one another. Suits of armour wandered off when no one was looking. Storage closets appeared out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast. Staircases vanished into thin air. There were doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending, and classrooms that sometimes decided to be on the third floor and sometimes on the fourth.

It was a nightmare to navigate, made all the worse by the fact that none of it was random. The castle was semi-sentient, not just because of its suits of armour and its paintings and its immobility. The building had a mind of its own, and that mind worked in mysterious and inconvenient ways.

Remus had once told her that the castle took you to where you _needed_ to be rather than where you _wanted_ to be. For instance: Kali _wanted_ to get to the Charms classroom, but Hogwarts apparently thought that she _needed_ to be somewhere in the North Wing, possibly on the second floor.

 _“_ _You’re lost,”_ Pan drawled from where he lounged in a patch of sunlight in the Arithmancy classroom, listening to Professor Vector teach her sixth-year class.

Kali hurried through the empty, unfamiliar part of the castle, her footsteps echoing off the stone floor and her panting reverberating off the stone walls. _“_ _No kidding,”_

_“Maybe you should turn back?”_

_“_ _Can’t. The staircase moved, remember?”_ Before coming to Hogwarts, Kali had never imagined that staircases could be such a nuisance.

 _“_ _We wouldn’t be having this problem if we’d stayed at_ _San Francisco_ _,”_ he said as she looked for a signpost or a convenient arrow pointing her in the right direction.

_“Are you really still on that?”_

He gave a mental shrug. _“Just pointing it out.”_

She turned a corner and nearly knocked into someone.

The man's black robes drowned his thin frame and brought out the sallowness of his skin. His large nose hooked over a thin mouth, and his black hair framed his face in greasy curtains. His glare could have curdled milk.

“Sorry, Professor,” she said, taking a step back.

His features did not soften. He carried a crate of glass vials that tinkled against each other whenever he moved. “What are you doing here, Miss Black?”

“I’m trying to get to the Charms classroom.” She shouldn't have told Daphne to go on ahead without her.

Professor McGonagall had let them out of class early enough that Kali and Daphne had gone to their dormitory to drop off their morning books. They’d been halfway to Professor Flitwick’s classroom when Kali's hand had brushed her pocket and found it wandless. She had told Daphne not to wait for her and had run back to the dorm without knowing that the bloody stairs would have moved by the time she got back.

“The Charms classrooms are on the other side of the castle, Miss Black.” The professor sneered, showing his uneven, yellow teeth. “If you’re going to lie, try to do so more convincingly.”

“I’m not lying, sir.” Remus would have her head if she got into an argument with a teacher on her first day. “I’m not familiar with the layout of the castle yet.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I suggest you gain familiarity with it quickly. You are not a first-year, Miss Black. We teachers expect punctuality from our older students.”

 _“He does realise it’s your first day, right?”_ said Pan. Irritation seeped from him, and she had to focus on not letting it wash over her.

Before she could think up a careful reply, Remus strolled up to them from the same direction the Slytherin Head of House had come. The tension fell from Kali’s shoulders.

“Don’t you have a class starting soon, Miss Black?”

“I got lost on the way to Charms, sir.”

Remus smiled down at Snape, and Snape scowled up at him. “I can take it from here, Severus.”

The corner of Professor Snape's mouth twitched like the spasm of a dying frog's leg. The more Remus's eyes shone, the more Professor Snape's hardened until they became chunks of coal. He jerked his head into a nod and left with a tinkling of vials and a billowing of his robes, stalking down the corridor like a substandard bogeyman.

“He’s unpleasant,” Kali said when he turned a corner.

Remus sighed but did not contradict her. “He’s your teacher.”

“One does not negate the other.”

He shook his head but again didn’t correct her assessment. “How have your classes been so far?” he asked as he herded her toward the elusive Charms corridor.

“Good.” Her step recovered its bounce, and any panic over being late for class disappeared. “Herbology seems fun, and Professor McGonagall’s nice. How about yours?”

“Unfortunately, Hogwarts hasn’t had much luck in ways of continuity in the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum—too many different teachers teaching too many different things. But the students are eager to learn.”

They stopped in front of a tapestry of a woman picking flowers, and Remus pushed it aside, revealing a narrow spiral staircase.

“Go up one floor, and then go through the secret passageway behind the Runespoor statue. It will lead you straight to your Charms classroom.”

Kali made a mental note to start checking behind all the tapestries and statues in the school. “I really wish you hadn’t lost that map you made while you were a student here.”

“I’m hoping that with an entire castle to explore, you won’t get bored and start causing trouble.”

“When have I ever caused any trouble?”

“I have a list,” he said, with a twist of his lips that was meant to be reprimanding but couldn't hide his smile. “It’s a good six feet long, and I whip it out whenever someone tells me how delightful you are.”

“But I am delightful,” she said, throwing him her best ‘delightful person’ smile.

He scoffed. “When you want to be. Now get going, or you’re going to be late.”

She got to the Charms corridor just as Professor Flitwick waved her classmates in. Running the last few metres, she joined the back of the line.

Inside the classroom, three rows of desks stood of raised daises. At the front of the room, two blackboards flanked the teacher's desk and a set of arched windows let in the grey morning light, brightening the room more than the torches, which hung from the walls.

When Kali slipped into the seat beside Daphne's, Daphne whispered, “I worried you’d got lost.”

“I did,” Kali said, still catching her breath.

Professor Flitwick sat in a large chair behind the teacher’s desk. “We shall start the year with some revision as a warm-up after the summer break,” he said. “We’ll begin with the Levitation Charm and the Mending Charm, and then we’ll see who still remembers the Disarming Charm.”

Within minutes, objects flew overhead, some levitated, others thrown. Students dropped inkwells, mended them, and dropped them again, sprinkling desks and tiles with black raindrops. Professor Flitwick walked through the rows, whistling a tune and dodging projectiles, followed by a collection of tap-dancing teacups. Kali's eyebrows climbed up her forehead with every successive bang or clatter, but Professor Flitwick's jovial smile never wavered.

With a shake of her head, she closed her ears and focused on her pens, making each float from their case and balance one on top of the other in mid-air.

“You’re good at that,” said Daphne as her quill fluttered and dropped back to the desk.

Kali's temple throbbed. The topmost pen wobbled, swaying from side to side like an upside-down pendulum. She narrowed her eyes, furrowed her brow, and got it back under control. “It takes practice.”

“Could you tutor me?” A tremor crept into Daphne's voice. “I’m not very good at Charms.”

From the seat behind Daphne’s, Pansy sniggered and leaned forwards. “That suggests that you’re good at anything at all.”

Pansy’s friends tittered, and Daphne’s face flushed red.

Biting her lip, Kali lowered her pens one by one in a controlled descent rather than an outright fall. When they all rested on the table, she said, “Leave her alone, Pansy.”

“Why would I do that?” She flipped her short hair out of her face and raised her chin to look down her nose at Kali and Daphne.

Kali turned in her seat. Pansy, Tracy, and Millicent wore matching smug smiles, and Pansy quirked a satisfied eyebrow at how outnumbered Kali once again found herself.

“If she and I are so beneath you, why bother to acknowledge us?” asked Kali.

“We've got to get some use out of you,” said Millicent. Sparks flew from her wand as she prodded it in Kali’s direction, leaving scorch marks on her desk.

Relieved as Kali was to see that Millicent had recovered from the incident on the train, she had hoped that a lesson might have been learnt from the event. Evidently, it hadn't.

“Now, now, ladies,” said Professor Flitwick from across the room. “You must focus. This may only be a revision, but that does not make it any less important.”

Kali spared the three girls one last dark look before turning to Daphne. “You should loosen your grip on your wand. Squeeze it too tight, and it’s bound to be uncooperative. Like this.”

Kali showed Daphne how to hold her wand and tried to ignore the taunts and laughter behind her. By the time the bell rang for lunch, her shoulders and jaw ached and her grip on her wand had turned her knuckles white. Pansy and Millicent shoved past on their way out, knocking Kali into her desk. The twinge in her hip made her hand twitch for her wand, but she gritted her teeth and settled on a glare.

 _“At what point does rising above it become the same thing as taking it?”_ Pan asked. He’d found his way to the Great Hall and sat at the Slytherin table, a baboon struggling to cut his kidney pie because Gran wouldn’t let him sit at the table unless he used cutlery.

 _“They’re looking for a reaction.”_ Kali shouldered her bag and yanked her hair from beneath the strap, wincing at the sting. _“If I don’t give them one, they’ll get bored.”_

Pan gave up on the knife and fork, took a serving spoon, and shovelled the pie into his mouth. _“But you are giving them one.”_

_“I’m working on it.”_

Professor Flitwick jumped from his chair and raised his wand to erase the chalkboards, the top of his head level with the top of his desk. Kali's pace slowed, and she stopped halfway to the door as a memory darted through her brain.

Pan tsked. _“That’s racist.”_

 _“I know. Shut up.”_ She bit her lip and changed course. “Professor?”

He turned and lowered his wand, bushy eyebrows rising and then falling. The curve of his smile hid beneath his beard, but the crows’ feet deepened around his eyes. “Yes, Miss Black?”

“Could I ask you a question”—she licked her lip and shifted her weight to her left foot—“about Hobgoblins?”

Her chest tightened, but the professor’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course.”

She had prepared for a different reaction, affront or indignation. Running her thumb over the strap of her bag, she asked, “The ones who offer people information, how do they know the things they claim to know?”

He chuckled and put his hand over his belly, tapping his fingers against it. “You’ve heard of the expression ‘the walls have ears’? Hobgoblins live in attics and basements and in the spaces behind walls. People rarely know they’re there and don’t censor themselves when they think they’re alone.”

“Do they ever lie?”

“Some do. They're like people, all different.”

A breath trapped in Kali’s lungs escaped, but it didn’t ease the weight on her chest. She stared at the chalkless blackboard and worried her lip. Hob could have been lying. No one else had tried to help her since she’d arrived in the UK, why would he? What information could he have learnt about her father in the Leaky Cauldron other than rumours? The chances were that he had only wanted to trick her, yet the uncertainty of ‘what if’ tore at her from within.

“What’s on your mind, Miss Black?”

She pulled her face into a smile and shook her head. “Nothing.”

With a wave of his wand, the classroom returned to order. A broom swept shards of glass into the bin, and a mop and bucket followed behind it to wash out the ink stains. Pillows and feathers drifted overhead and came to rest in the wardrobe in neat towers and rows. Everything swayed to a melody that Professor Flitwick tapped against his thigh. Kali's lips parted. He had yet to break a sweat, had yet to gain any tension between his eyebrows.

When everything had returned to its place, he set his wand on his desk and rubbed his beard. “You guessed that I’m part Goblin.”

Her mouth fell open, an apology on her tongue, but his eyes softened and he raised his hands.

“It isn’t a secret. I don’t mention the fact when I introduce myself because I know what people will think, but neither do I hide it. I learnt a long time ago that our families do not define us.” His eyes twinkled. “Do you understand?”

She didn’t. She had thought that she did, but a month had passed since she had held that belief with any certainty.

Trained professionals had broken into her home and accused her of harbouring a fugitive because of who her family was. Strangers on the street pointed at her and muttered slurs because of who her family was. Schoolmates glared and changed direction in the corridor when they saw her coming because of who her family was. The Sorting Hat had put her into Slytherin because of who her family was.

She stopped her thoughts in their tracks.

She wouldn’t be upset about the sorting. Slytherin was a fine House; Aunt Andromeda’s House. Kali had friends in it, and the dungeon common room held a private library and a view of the lake. She would not be upset.

“I understand,” she said.

Professor Flitwick beamed and patted her hand before sending her on her way. Daphne waited for her in the hallway. Kali would not be upset.

*******

Manure and blood stung Kali's nose. Her skin tingled every time she looked into the Forbidden Forest, but Pan hissed whenever her attention left the paddock.

 _“You worry too much,”_ she said.

 _“And you don’t worry enough,”_ he bit back, sending her reinforced images of steel-coloured beaks and half a foot long talons.

His yellow fur peeked through the branches above her head, his cat gaze fixed on the Hippogriffs whose orange eyes blazed and whose talons dug grooves through the dirt at their feet. Their coats gleamed, changing halfway down their bodies from feathers to hair. Every beat of their wings sent a breeze through Kali's hair.

 _“You’re not risking your life because you think they’re pretty,”_ he said.

Her textbook growled, and she reached beneath it to tickle its spine.

It had taken several hours to figure out how _The Monster Book of Monsters_ ticked. Pan had shouted his recommendations from the top of her bedroom wardrobe, his most recurring thought being to chuck the ill-tempered tome out the window and be rid of it, but Kali had refused to be bested by a book, even if it did have teeth. Pan had eventually suggested a gentler approach, which had worked better than stomping on it and threatening to burn it or drown it.

Harsh whispers drew Kali's eyes over her shoulder.

Neither Daphne nor Blaise took Care of Magical Creatures, but all of the housemates whom Kali had managed to piss off on the train yesterday did.

They huddled outside the paddock, heads bent and eyes darting between Kali, a group of Gryffindors, and the Hippogriffs. Their fever-bright gazes reeked of prayers to gods of chaos and injury, aligning with Pan’s muttered repetition of words like ‘evisceration’ and ‘spinal fracture’.

 _“The Hippogriffs aren’t what I’m most worried about,”_ Kali said.

She tried to ignore them. Sitting on the paddock fence, she took notes and sketched the Hippogriff she’d bowed to earlier. The muscles in its back rolled with every lazy flap of its wings, the sunlight playing over fur and feathers, dancing between gold and black. Despite Pan and her housemates, she wanted to feel those muscles beneath her. Riding a Hippogriff wouldn’t be anything like riding a horse, but Harry Potter had seemed to enjoy it.

Professor Hagrid, the big man who had led Kali and the first-years to the boats last night, whispered advice and encouragements to the chubby Gryffindor boy who kept running away from Kali's black Hippogriff. The beast no longer seemed to want to bend its knees.

A couple of metres away, the Gryffindor girl who had whispered something nonsensical about tea leaves when Harry had volunteered to go first cooed over Buckbeak. The Hippogriff accepted the baby talk with only a sigh, but it tracked Draco's movements as he Vincent, and Gregory climbed the fence.

“Off with you, Brown,” Draco said. “You’ve had your turn.”

The girl and her friends huffed but walked away. Kali closed her notebook and slid from the fence.

Draco bowed like someone taught to do so from birth and Buckbeak returned it within seconds. Pansy clapped from the other side of the fence, and Draco scoffed.

“This is very easy. I knew it must have been if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?” He gave Buckbeak’s beak a disdainful pat. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”

Talons flashed. Draco screamed, and Kali threw herself against him.

She knocked him out of the way and spread her arms, making herself as big as possible to block Buckbeak as he lunged for a second attack. Her heart galloped, but she made her voice soft and spoke words of praise. Calling him a beautiful boy did the trick. He settled for glaring at Draco, and Hagrid rushed forward to slip his collar back on.

Draco lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. “I'm dying!” he yelled as the class panicked. “I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!”

A tear in his sleeve showed a long gash, but no blood spurted from the wound or splattered the grass. “You’re not dying,” Kali said. “Get up.”

“I can’t,” Draco moaned.

Kali grabbed the front of his robes and heaved him up none too gently. “What is wrong with you?”

Draco stumbled back when she shoved him. Anger flared over his face like fire, and he pointed at Buckbeak. “That beast attacked me.”

“You were told not to insult a Hippogriff.” Her words shook, but her glare didn’t waver. “Your teacher warned you that it was dangerous.”

“Some teacher he is, bringing a thing like that to our first class!”

“You’re the only one bleeding! Evidently, you’re the only one lacking the brains and maturity to be allowed in this class.”

A rush of blood turned his face red. His nostrils flared and his grey eyes bulged. Like a bonbon set to explode, he simmered, one lapse of control away from setting off sparks. The swell of rapids in Kali's veins drowned out sounds and set her skin on fire. Her fists shook, and her nails dug into her palms, adding a dull pain that competed with the hammering against her breastbone.

“Right, I think tha’ll be all for today,” said Hagrid, breaking in before Kali could call Draco some unflattering things. Hagrid had gone white, and his big hands trembled with every breath. “Off yeh go now.”

Draco threw one last glare at the teacher and marched off. The rest of the students followed, Kali’s housemates all shouting about Hagrid.

“They should fire him straight away!” said Pansy, with tears streaming down her face.

“It was Malfoy's fault!” said a dark-skinned Gryffindor boy.

Vincent and Gregory flexed their muscles, but they wouldn’t do anything without Draco’s say-so, and he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.

“You should go see the school nurse, Draco,” Kali said when he started heading toward the common room.

He wheeled on her and shouted, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Eyes narrowing, she clenched and unclenched her hands. “Fine, go ahead and bleed out then.”

They glared at each other, but Draco turned away first, stomping off to the hospital wing.

“I'm going to see if he's okay,” said Pansy. She gave Kali a nasty look and ran up the marble staircase after him.

The rest of the Slytherins headed to the common room, so Kali stomped off in the opposite direction, her eyes stinging and her stomach hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was a gratuitous excuse to indulge the urge I occasionally had while reading the first HP books to shake and shout at Draco Malfoy. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you feel like leaving a comment, know that it makes me very happy!


	7. The Benefits of Leech Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Kali Black got lost on her way to Charms and had her first face-to-face with Professor Snape. The encounter didn’t go well, and neither did Charms when Pansy Parkinson and her friends decided that Kali was close to the bottom of the social food chain. The day didn’t get any better after that as Draco insulted a Hippogriff during Care of Magical Creatures and was promptly attacked by the winged beast, which resulted in an argument between Draco and Kali.

Hermione started Monday morning with Divination, and then she started it again with Arithmancy.

Her mother had taught her to leave the good things until last and get the unpleasant things over and done with first. Divination was setting itself up to be Hermione’s least favourite class this year. The first lesson last week hadn’t gone well at all. Hermione hadn’t been able to make heads nor tails of her tea leaves, Professor Trelawney had predicted Harry's death and had said that Hermione had very little ‘aura’ and ‘receptivity to the resonances of the future’, whatever that meant.

She always looked forward to Arithmancy, though.

After writing down the homework, Hermione packed her bag and ran from the Divination tower into the nearest bathroom. A spin of the Time-Turner later, she rushed to the seventh floor, down a corridor that she had never been to before this year because the rooms lining it couldn’t fit many students.

Hermione arrived just as Professor Vector was closing the door. She shot the professor an apologetic glance and darted in.

Fay and Eileen, the two other Gryffindors who took this class, sat at the back of the room. Although not friends, they and Hermione were civil with one another—or at least Hermione and Fay were. Eileen could be a bit nasty at times. They had saved her a seat, but Hermione always favoured the front of the class when she could. However, the Gryffindors shared this lesson with the Slytherins.

While Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott occupied the middle row, Blaise Zabini and Kali Black sat at the front.

Hermione didn’t hesitate long before taking the seat next to Kali's, although she sat as far away from her as she could manage.

Professor Vector began her lesson, and Hermione wrote every word. They were half an hour in when the professor asked them to work in groups, at which point Hermione regretted her seating arrangement.

She had never had a proper conversation with either Blaise or Kali, but she knew from sharing classes with him for two years that Blaise was apathetic and lazy about most things, and she couldn’t imagine Kali being any better.

According to the rumours that had spread like wildfire over the past few days, Kali was at least mildly magically gifted, but being talented and being skilled were two different things. Talent was natural and took next to no effort; whereas skill was all about the work you put into it. It was about discipline and perseverance, both of which Hermione had in droves and which were highly necessary for a subject as complex as Arithmancy.

If Kali and Blaise thought that Hermione was going to do all the work for them, they were mistaken.

“Is there something about this being a group project that is unclear to you, Granger?” Blaise asked in a slow and indifferent drawl.

Hermione, who had been reading through the theory overview one last time before attempting the exercise, looked up at him. He lounged in his chair, book unopened. Kali answered before Hermione could.

“Says the guy who isn’t planning to lift a finger to help out,” she said. She hadn’t bothered turning her attention away from whatever she was scribbling in her Muggle notebook with her Muggle pens.

“That’s precisely why I’m asking,” he said, throwing Kali his most charming smile as any thought of Hermione left his mind. “We can’t have you doing all of the work by yourself. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Know what else wouldn’t be fair?” Kali asked, finally looking up at him and returning his smile. “Letting the teacher know how unhelpful you’re being.”

Blaise had two expressions: bored indifference and vain amusement. He switched to the second. “Are you going to tell on me, Black?”

“It would be unkind of me to reinforce your notion that slacking off will get you through life. I’d be doing you a favour.”

Despite the threat, Blaise’s grin widened. “Which part shall I work on?”

“The number chart for the second equation,” she said. “But use the Lovelace theorem instead of the Thoth one. It doesn’t rely on Astronomy as much, so it’ll be more accurate.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose when Blaise did as he was told.

She hadn’t considered using the Lovelace formula. Professor Vector had taught it to them last week, but they’d since moved on to the Thoth theorem. Using the former instead of the latter made sense, though, as the Thoth theorem relied on the movements of stars from over 5,200 years ago.

“The first equation is harder,” Kali said, turning to Hermione. “Shall we work on it together, or would you rather we each take half?”

Hermione stared as her brain brought up the photo of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair whom she had seen in the papers and on television. Kali’s hair was shinier than Sirius Black’s, her face was fuller, and her skin not as pale, but the shape and colour of their eyes matched, as did the straightness of their noses and the angles of their faces.

Kali Black was the daughter of a killer—a man who had brutally murdered thirteen people, escaped from Azkaban, and was now on the loose and after Harry. Had Kali looked like a mountain troll, everyone would have found it much easier to remember that she was related to a mass murderer, and they might start to wonder why she had chosen to transfer to Hogwarts this year, right after her father had escaped from prison.

For her part, Hermione did not trust Kali Black, not one bit, but this could be the perfect opportunity to learn more about this new potential threat.

“We can do it together,” said Hermione, and Kali smiled at her. It was a nice smile—it was warm and made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Kali slid her chair closer to Hermione’s, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a Muggle-born, right?”

Hermione tensed. “Yes.” She was used to name-calling, be it for the colour of her skin, her physical appearance, her brusque manner, or her blood status, but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

“I only ask because that means you know mathematics.”

Hermione had loved maths when she was little. It was logical and straightforward; there could only be one right answer. She had been disappointed when she’d found out that it wasn’t taught at Hogwarts, but it was a small price to pay in exchange for learning magic. Arithmancy was basically mathematics, except it was more complicated, more involved, and fairly often you had to cross-reference it with Astronomy. It was wonderful.

“You know maths, too?” asked Hermione.

“My mother hired a Muggle tutor to teach me the basics.”

Hermione blinked and scrunched her brow. “But you’re a pure-blood.”

After Hermione had found out about the importance of blood status in the wizarding world, she had done some research and had found a list of the ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’, as they were called. The twenty-eight British wizarding families whose blood was the purest. The Blacks had featured prominently on that list.

“Half-blood, actually,” Kali corrected with a wave of her hand. “My mother’s side of the family is a little too diverse to fit in with the pure-blood crowds.”

“Your mother?” Hermione repeated like an idiot. She’d been so focused on Kali’s father that she had forgotten to consider that she would have other family.

The crooked smile Kali threw her way was too devious to be called anything other than a smirk. “Yeah, most people have one.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded as a blush crept up her neck. “Was it your mother’s idea to move to the UK?”

Kali stopped smiling. It was like a switch had flipped. She cleared her throat and looked down at the equation on which they were supposed to be working. “No. She died a few years ago.”

Hermione's mind blurted a swear, but she kept it to herself. “I’m sorry.”

With a shrug and a nod, Kali accepted the courtesy gesture, but she didn’t take her eyes off the worksheet.

Discomfort and social awkwardness made Hermione's skin itch. She shifted in her seat, wanting an end to this conversation, but as it often did, her nosiness got the better of her. “I don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but if your mother passed away, and your father is—”

Kali looked up at her, and Hermione swallowed. It wasn’t a glare; there wasn’t a hint of anger or malice in Kali’s eyes, but it was _piercing_. Hermione might have called it intense if she didn’t think that sounded silly.

Head tilting to the side, Kali completed Hermione's question. “Who do I live with?”

The prickling eased, and Hermione nodded.

“My grandmother, Freyja Morrigan, and my godfather, Professor Lupin.”

Hermione nodded and ducked her head, eyes falling on the Arithmancy exercise. It explained why Hermione had seen Kali and the new professor talking in the corridors a couple of times.

The third-year Gryffindors had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year this afternoon, so Hermione had had no interaction with Professor Lupin since the Dementor incident on the train. If the way he had dealt with that situation was anything to go by, he was a skilled wizard and knowledgeable about the subject he taught. Those attributes alone made him the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Hermione had ever had.

Between the two of them, Kali and Hermione solved the equation in no time.

Kali's eyebrows rose higher with every complicated division and multiplication that Hermione did in her head, and her smile grew every time Hermione insisted on writing it all down, step by step, to double-check her answers. When they finished, they checked Blaise’s equation, to which he took mild offence, but his indignation seemed mostly designed to tease Kali. They were the first group to finish, and their work got the only perfect score.

“Have you finished the homework for Ancient Runes yet?” Kali asked as they packed their bags.

“Nearly. I’m having a bit of trouble translating the third paragraph.” Hermione and Kali headed to the dungeons for Potions, and Blaise trailed after Kali like a loyal dog. “I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.”

Hermione half-jogged to keep up with Kali's long legs, but Kali slowed when Hermione started rubbing at a side stitch. “It’s written in a tense that doesn’t exist in the English language,” she said. “An exact translation isn’t possible.”

That explained it. “What tense is it?”

“The future perfect subjunctive. It was used in Latin-based languages years ago but has since fallen out of favour. I think Spanish still uses it in legal documents.”

Hermione made a mental note to take another look at her Runes homework tonight and wondered if the library had any translated Spanish law books. Behind her, Blaise sighed.

Kali glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, Blaise?”

“Oh, you’re paying attention to me again?” he said, oozing the kind of ooze that only a Slytherin could. “How nice. I assumed that because there was someone of your own gender to talk to, you’d forgotten about me.”

Cocking her eyebrows, Kali threw him a smile. “Are you jealous?”

“Only curious,” he said with an arch of his own brow. “Why is it that you prefer female company to that of men?”

“The conversation’s better as is the hygiene.”

Blaise snorted, and the two of them bickered all the way down to the dungeons.

They arrived in front of the classroom right on time. Professor Snape ordered them in with a glare, and Hermione hurried to set up her things at one of the potion benches.

A draught blew past, and goosebumps rose on her arms. It was colder down here than anywhere else in the castle despite the many small cooking fires. She supposed the frigid temperatures helped in preserving the pickled animal parts that floated in the glass jars lining the walls.

Professor Snape wrote instructions on the blackboard and explained that they would be brewing a Shrinking Solution today. Hermione set up her cauldron between Kali's and Neville's and got to work preparing her ingredients.

Potions was a challenging subject that required her utmost attention, but today the class was filled with an endless stream of distractions.

First, Neville almost fell face-first into his cauldron when Kali smiled at him. Second, Draco, who had wandered off to the hospital wing after Arithmancy to have his arm checked, returned halfway through the first hour of the lesson, not even earning himself a reprimand from Professor Snape. Third, Draco set up his cauldron next to Harry and Ron, and Professor Snape demanded that Ron help Draco prepare his ingredients to which Ron went brick red. There was a squabble over daisy roots; Harry was made to skin Draco's shrivel fig, and Neville's potion, which was supposed to be bright, acid green, had turned—

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Professor Snape. He ladled some up and allowed it to splash into the cauldron so that everyone could see. “Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

Neville’s skin tinged pink, and he started to shake. He pressed his trembling lips together as his eyes watered.

Hermione jumped to his aid. “Please, sir, I could help Neville put it right—”

“I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger.” Hermione snapped her jaw shut, feeling her skin turn as pink as Neville’s. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson, we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Professor Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless.

“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione.

Hermione waited until Professor Snape was out of earshot before she started muttering instructions to Neville while simultaneously finishing her own potion.

“You should have finished adding your ingredients by now,” said Professor Snape five minutes later. “This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's.”

Crabbe and Goyle laughed, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion. Hermione kept muttering instructions out of the corner of her mouth. The rest of the class packed their unused ingredients and went to wash their hands and ladles at the stone basin in the corner of the room into which ice-cold water poured from a gargoyle's mouth.

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who cowered by his cauldron.

“Everyone, gather 'round,” said Professor Snape, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Hermione chewed on her lip as Professor Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat.

The toad gulped. There was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole wriggled in Snape's palm.

Half of the class burst into applause. Professor Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robes, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and the toad reappeared, fully grown.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Professor Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger.”

Hermione flinched under the teacher’s glare and stared at the contents of her cauldron.

“Who can tell me the benefits of leech juice before class ends?”

Hermione’s hand shot up, eager to regain the points she’d just lost, but Professor Snape ignored her. His eyes wandered around the classroom until they landed on Kali. His expression twisted, and the look he gave her was much the same as the look he gave Harry on a regular basis. Loathing. Professor Snape had never looked at a Slytherin like that before; he had never once been mean to anyone from his House.

“Miss Black, perhaps?” Her name sounded like an insult on his tongue.

Kali smiled and recited the long list of known leech juice benefits. Hermione's mood dropped as Kali listed every last one. She didn't want Kali to fail, but she’d known the answer too and would have liked the opportunity to earn back a few points for Gryffindor.

As Kali spoke, Professor Snape’s expression darkened. When she finished, he asked, “And why, Miss Black, did you not raise your hand if you knew the answer?”

“Someone already had their hand up, sir, and seemed eager to answer. It would have been rude to take the chance away from her.”

“Miss Granger is a show-off who believes that knowing her every textbook off by heart makes her an adequate witch,” said Professor Snape, his lips curling. “Her eagerness is a pain.”

Hermione’s insides twisted. Her face burned, and she ducked her head to hide her stinging eyes.

“Surely as a teacher you should value a student who's eager to learn,” said Kali her tone chillier than the dungeon walls.

“Watch your tongue,” snapped Snape.

“Sorry, Professor. Only you see, this is a new school for me, and I feel it would be best if I know the rules and proper procedures when dealing with teachers,” said Kali. “So is it that you don't like it when your students participate, or do you simply not like it when they give the right answer? And while we’re at it, is threatening to harm a student’s pet a common motivational tool at this school, sir?”

Hermione’s head snapped up. Everyone stared at Kali with a mixture of horror and awe.

“Detention, Miss Black,” barked Professor Snape.

Kali didn’t even flinch. “For participating or for being right?”

“For being insolent,” he snarled. “How very like your father you've turned out to be. I'd have thought that his absence from your life would have been beneficial, but it would seem I was mistaken. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Kali tilted her head. “Why Gryffindor, sir?”

“Because you're …” He trailed off. Angry red splodges dotted his skin, and his jaw worked like a machine stalling and restarting over and over again.

“A Slytherin,” said Kali, finishing his sentence for him. “It would seem I'm not a replica of my father after all. You must be thrilled.” She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. When the bell rang, she grabbed her bag and started toward the door. “I'll see you tonight then. Does 8 o'clock work for you?”

The class stared after her.

“Class dismissed," shouted Snape. He had turned an ugly, splotchy purple colour.

***

Hermione spent most of her lunch hour in the periodicals section of the library.

Every newspaper from the day after You-Know-Who’s Halloween attack on the Potter’s until the end of that year mentioned Sirius Black, as did every paper since Black’s escape from Azkaban.

Hermione added another sheet of parchment to the case folder she had built. She had a list of official facts, a list of unofficial character statements, and a list of theories.

Official Facts:

_Some time prior to the Potter attack, Sirius Black became the Potters' Secret Keeper (Fidelius Charm). Only he could reveal the Potters' location. On the night of Halloween, You-Know-Who entered the Potters' household._

_The following day, Sirius Black used the Exploding Charm ( _Bombarda Maxima_ ) to blow up a Muggle street, killing twelve Muggles and the wizard Peter Pettigrew. The purpose of this attack was to kill Pettigrew who had found Black and confronted him about his part in the murders of Lily and James Potter._

_Aurors arrived at the scene. Black did not resist arrest (he laughed?). Open and close investigation. Black was deemed guilty of thirteen counts of murder, conspiracy to murder, and treason. Sentenced to life in Azkaban._

_He escaped Azkaban on the 27th of July (this year) at about 4 am. Still no idea how. His escape was reported on Muggle news on the 31st of July. Orders to not engage. Black is highly dangerous. There have been several reported sightings. None confirmed._

_Dementors are posted at Hogwarts. They searched the Hogwarts Express on the 1st of September but didn't find him._

Hermione had read dozens of articles, but most said the same thing. The facts fit on one side of a single piece of parchment, and none helped her. She had pages and pages of character statements, though, from interviews with Aurors and Black’s acquaintances, but she doubted their usefulness, too.

Character Statements (sample):

_“In my fifth year at Hogwarts, Sirius Black shredded all my robes because I beat him at a game of cards.”_

_“He was banned from playing Quidditch after he bashed an opponent’s skull in with his Beater's bat.”_

_“Sirius Black once trained a feral deer to eviscerate people with its antlers and snuck it into the Great Hall.”_

Thousands of people claimed to have suffered at the hands or wand of Sirius Black. Every interview painted him as a madman, unpredictable and explosive, which the facts supported, but a lot of the claims tasted false, or at least exaggerated. Hermione had a Time-Turner and even she couldn’t wreak as much havoc as people claimed Black had.

She only had two theories.

Theories:

_1) Black’s goal is to kill Harry. Why? To finish the job he started. Proof? Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge met personally with Harry at the Leaky Cauldron (after Harry blew up his aunt). Dumbledore allowed Dementors at Hogwarts. He wouldn’t have agreed to that if the threat weren’t real._

_2) How did Black escape from Azkaban? Outside help? Death Eaters in the Ministry? A recent article claimed that Dementors can’t be bribed, which isn't true. You-Know-Who bought their support. If theory 1 is correct (likely) and the Dementors are in league with Black, how easily can he get to Harry?_

The answer to that last question made Hermione’s gut twist.

Harry was more worried about Quidditch than he was about Sirius Black, but Hermione needed a plan.

She read through her fact sheet for the hundredth time. The holes glared at her, taunting her like missing puzzle pieces. If she could only find one or two more, the picture would reveal itself. She picked up the nearest newspaper and skimmed it for Sirius Black’s name or a mention of You-Know-Who or Death Eaters or the Potters.

“Hermione?” Kali stood at the end of one of the library’s narrow alleys. Her frown turned into a smile, and she changed course, heading toward Hermione.

Another swear sprang into Hermione's brain, a side-effect of spending so much time with Ron. She flicked her gaze over her research, over all of the newspapers from the covers of which Sirius Black’s mugshot screamed. Kali stopped on the other side of Hermione’s table. Her eyes dropped. Her smile fell.

The warning bell going off in Hermione’s head wouldn’t shut up long enough to let her think.

“I was going to give you this in Defence,” Kali said, her gaze going from paper to paper. She shook her head and set a book on the only empty space left on the table.

The leather binding rebooted Hermione’s brain. “Kali—”

“I’ll see you in class.” She walked away without sparing Hermione a glance.

Hermione slumped in her chair, closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead. Her stomach rebelled at the memory of Kali’s expression, which had somehow looked worse than when Hermione had brought up Kali’s dead mother.

With a sigh, Hermione tilted forward and grabbed the book.

_European Languages of Law, Volume II._

A pink sticky note stuck out from between the pages. Hermione opened the book to that spot and found a chapter on the future perfect subjunctive. The note read, “I hope this helps,” followed by a picture of Thoth with his ibis’s head and moon disk losing a fight to an umbrella-wielding Ada Lovelace.

Hermione thumped her face against the yellowing pages.

Perhaps Professor Trelawney was right. If Hermione had any receptivity to the resonances of the future, she probably could have avoided that situation.

***

Hermione left the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, her mind buzzing. Everyone chattered about the Boggart and reenacted their favourite moments, everyone except for Kali, who had failed to cast the Boggart-Banishing Spell.

Hermione couldn’t blame her. Had the Boggart taken the form of her dying parents, she wasn’t sure she could have thought of anything funny enough to dispel it either.

When Ron’s legless spider had rolled over and over, it had come to a halt at Kali’s feet. The Boggart had turned into Professor Lupin, sprawled on the floor, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes open and empty, a trickle of blood running down his face.

Kali had made a sound like a whimper, and the Boggart had shimmered and taken the shape of another dead body, that of Sirius Black, younger than he was in the photos Hermione had seen and far more handsome. The Boggart had shimmered again, and there had lain another dead body, that of a tall, broad-shouldered woman. The body had faded in and out of focus before shrinking into a slender woman with blood blossoming from her chest.

Lavender and Seamus had screamed the loudest when the woman’s eyes had opened, unseeing yet looking directly at Kali. The Boggart had hissed in a voice that could not pass for human, “This is your fault.”

Kali had tried to cast the spell, but when it failed, the Boggart started talking again, saying awful things. Kali had stumbled back, and the Boggart had turned its attention to Harry, at which point, Professor Lupin had called it a day. He had dismissed the class and asked Kali to stay behind for a moment.

“That was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson we've ever had, wasn't it?” said Ron as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags.

“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Hermione. “But I wish I could have had a turn with the Boggart—”

“What would it have been for you?” Ron sniggered. “A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?”

Hermione shot him a glare, but truth be told, she had no idea what her Boggart would be. When Professor Lupin had told the class to picture whatever scared them the most, Hermione’s mind had come up blank, which, of course, had led to no small amount of panic. If she couldn’t figure out what her greatest fear was, she wouldn’t be able to think of something funny for it to turn into. She would fail in front of everyone, Professor Lupin would be disappointed, and she’d be embarrassed.

She had been relieved when the class had ended, but now she was curious.

“What about Kali’s Boggart?” said Harry. “What was that about?”

“Yeah, whose greatest fear is of a teacher dying?” asked Ron. “Even if he is a cool teacher.”

“Professor Lupin isn’t just Kali’s teacher. He’s also her godfather and her guardian,” said Hermione.

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “He is?”

They turned a corner and passed a painting of two knights sparring. “Her father’s an escaped convict, and her mother died when Kali was younger. She has to live with someone.”

The knights stopped clashing swords long enough to throw Old English insults at the passing students, none of which Hermione understood. Harry frowned at them before looking back at Hermione. “How do you know all this?”

“She told me.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the success of her reconnaissance mission had her holding her chin high. “We have Arithmancy together.”

“I thought you didn’t like her,” said Ron.

Hermione shrugged. Kali Black was not what she had expected, but she didn’t know her well enough to make a proper assessment yet, and if the library incident was any indication, she might not get the chance to.

“Hey, guys,” said Neville, running up to them. He jumped when the painted knights started shouting their insults at him, too. “Have you seen Trevor? I can’t find him.”

“Honestly, Neville,” said Ron, “why do you bring him everywhere when you always end up losing him?”

“He gets lonely up in the dorm room.” Neville's gaze kept flicking to the angry knights. He edged to the right, putting some extra distance between him and them.

“He must still be in the staff room,” said Harry.

“He was,” said Kali, walking up to them with Trevor held between her hands.

“Trevor!” Neville cried as though it had been days since he had last seen the toad and not mere minutes. He rushed toward Kali but skidded to a halt at the last minute as he registered who stood in front of him. His cheeks turned pink, and his gaze wavered between Kali and Trevor.

Kali held out the toad. “Here.”

With a loud swallow, Neville stepped forward and took the proffered amphibian, cradling him against his chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, but her gaze snapped to the rude painting when one of the knights called Neville a fopdoodle. She frowned as the knights jeered, and Harry took a small step toward her.

“Are you all right?”

Sharp grey eyes landed on him, and Hermione almost pulled him back by the collar of his robes. Traumatic Boggart or no, she was still the daughter of a man set on killing Harry, which meant that Harry shouldn't be the one doing reconnaissance or comfort missions.

“You looked a little shaken back there,” he said.

Kali shrugged, but no insouciance made it into her eyes. “I have some issues I need to work through.” She turned to Neville. “Why don’t you tell your Head of House or the headmaster about it?”

“About what?” asked Neville. His cheeks veered from pink to red as he fidgeted, his eyes fixed on Trevor.

Kali either didn’t notice how uncomfortable her unwavering attention made him, or she didn’t care. “Snape.”

“Oh, that. It’s nothing.”

“Boggarts turn into the thing you fear most in this world. That isn't nothing.” Her brow creased. “This isn't you trying to be brave, is it? Because there's a difference between bravery and stupidity, and this falls into the second category.”

“No, it’s not. I’m fine, really,” said Neville. He finally dared to glance up at her.

“Does he always do that? Bully you? All of you?”

Ron jumped in, so eager for Kali’s attention that Hermione almost rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, all the time.”

“And you’re all right with that?” Kali asked.

Ron shrugged, managing a far better show of nonchalance than Hermione had this morning when she’d asked about Kali’s parents. “We’re used to it.”

Blaise hailed Kali from the other side of the corridor. She backed toward him, leaving the Gryffindors with a small wave and the parting words, “You shouldn’t have to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fopdoodle is a funny-sounding word that is now obsolete but used to mean a stupid or insignificant person. As for that mention of the future perfect subjunctive, I wrote that scene when I was angry at my Spanish law homework for being uncooperative.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! Certain parts don't flow as well as I would like them to, so if you have any tips on how to fix that, I'd love to hear them.


	8. The Boy Who Lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Hermione Granger got put in a group with Kali Black and Blaise Zabini during Arithmancy and learnt that there was more to some than met the eye. This impression was reinforced in Potions, when Kali got into an argument with Professor Snape, and then again in Defence Against the Dark Arts when a Boggart revealed a dark fear.

Kali's hand cramped, muscles spasming like knives lancing through her fingers.

She kept scrubbing, head dipped within the cauldron, shoulders scrunched to keep herself from bashing into the rim above her. The rasp of her brush echoed in the darkness, but she strained to catch the scratch of a quill somewhere to her left.

Nine detentions with Professor Snape since the start of term. She had already scoured the gargoyle faucet, reorganised the ingredients cupboard, and sanded the melted edge of a workbench caught in a potion mishap, but the constant use Snape subjected his cauldrons to meant a constant need for cleaning.

A dozen spells could do a better and faster job than Kali and her brush, but Snape's eyes gleamed with every new callous on her palm.

"Hurry up, Miss Black," he said, and she narrowly avoided banging her head. "I don't want to waste my entire weekend because you're incapable of holding your tongue."

She proved him wrong by clamping her jaw shut.

Daphne and Blaise would be halfway to Hogsmeade by now. Kali didn't need Snape to decide that the best way to earn her silence was to make sure that she never got to visit the only all-wizarding village in Great Britain.

Scooting out from the cauldron, she squinted into it and brought a candle closer to check for stubborn stains. Snape watched from his desk, his predictably dark robes draining any colour from his pale skin. He rose when she dropped her brush into the water bucket and stalked closer as she pushed the cauldron onto its feet.

"Satisfactory," he said, swiping a finger over the cauldron's walls and narrowing his eyes when it came back clean. "I have one more task for you, and then you may leave."

Kali bit her tongue. The hands of her watch ticked against her wrist, but she waited while Snape vanished the bucket and levitated the cauldron away. With a swirl of his robes, he led her into the private potion lab adjoining the classroom. Shelves covered the stone walls, and a single cauldron sat in the room's centre. Its contents bubbled despite the lack of a fire, and a cloud of blue smoke hung beneath the ceiling.

"Wolfsbane," said Kali.

Snape nodded and flicked his wand to light the kindling beneath the potion.

Words of thanks tumbled into Kali's mouth, but she swallowed them. Few people had the skill to brew Wolfsbane, a potion that relieved the symptoms of lycanthropy. Of those who could, fewer did. Of the dozens of apothecaries in New York State, only one sold the Wolfsbane Potion and only did so if the commission was pre-paid.

Like Mr Ogeor, Snape didn't brew the potion out of the goodness of his heart. He had orders, and he followed them resentfully.

"As you know of Professor Lupin's _condition_ "—his lips twisted around the word—"I shall require your assistance."

Pan's warning bell rang. Scenarios flashed from his mind to Kali's, each worsening until she blocked him out. She followed Snape over the flagstones, taking each step with care on the off chance that Pan's boobytrap theory proved correct.

"The final step of the potion requires the simultaneous yet individual addition of four ingredients. I would rather avoid Levitation Charms for such a precarious endeavour unless you doubt your ability to do as you're told."

Fingernails digging into her palm, Kali forced a smile. "I'll manage."

Snape harrumphed. He handed her a dried leaf and a vial of purple dust and moved to the opposite side of the cauldron, ten centimetres of aconite root in one hand and a yellow petal in the other.

"On the count of three," he said. "One." He flexed his wrists. "Two." His left sleeve rolled to his elbow. "Three." A red tattoo curved over his forearm.

Kali dropped her ingredients in half a second too late.

Every bubble on the potion's surface popped, spurting brown jets of goo in all directions. One hit Kali's elbow. It stung, and then it burned. Pinpricks stabbed into her arm, and she stumbled backwards.

Snape cursed. He threw another root and half a petal into the potion, stirred clockwise, counter-clockwise, and clockwise again until the potion calmed.

His glare travelled to Kali's elbow, to the goo spreading like a parasite. The rumble in his throat sounded like one of Pan's growls. He pulled a bottle from a shelf, sending two jars crashing to the floor, and marched over the broken glass, stomping on the shards as though he imagined Kali under his feet instead.

The pinpricks worsened when he wrenched her arm to the side, but ice eased the fire when the salve touched her skin. He rubbed it in hard enough to bruise and said, "Did I not say _on_ the count of three, Miss Black?"

He had, but the tattooed snake protruding from a skull's mouth had stalled her hands.

Shoving her arm away, he whirled toward the steaming potion. "Get out. Your incompetence disgusts me."

With a glance at his covered forearm, she left.

 _"That's a development,"_ said Pan, trotting down the Grand Staircase as a fat yellow cat that passing first and second-years cooed at.

Snape wasn't the only teacher with a tattoo he'd rather his students not know about, but how many of his colleagues could say that they hid Lord Voldemort's Dark Mark beneath their sleeve? Kali broke into a jog to meet Pan halfway. _"Do you think Dumbledore knows?"_

_"This castle is his kingdom. Of course he does."_

Questions danced through her mind while concerns swirled in Pan's. She used one of the secret passageways to get to the third floor, darting into the Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor from behind an empty display case and skidding to a stop at the sight of Harry Potter closing the door to Remus's office on the other side of the hallway.

Pan's thoughts slowed and brought up images of old photographs in which Kali and Harry played together. Barely old enough to walk, yet they'd been the closest each other had to a sibling. _"_ _You could go talk to him._ _"_

 _"_ _I could._ _"_ But she didn't move.

Only when Harry took a step to turn a corner did Kali's doubt lift long enough to throw her into action. She hailed him, and he turned, brows scrunching and then lifting. He was kind of cute in a disorderly way. The green of his eyes glowed against his copper skin, and even though his dark hair was an utter mess, there was a certain charm to it.

Kali glanced up and down the corridor as she ran to him, but neither Ron nor Hermione waited around the corner. Kali had lost count of the number of times she had seen the three of them sitting in one of the courtyards or walking down a hallway, talking and laughing. They whispered a lot as well, huddled together, throwing glances over their shoulders in a way that screamed 'trouble'. She couldn't remember ever seeing Harry alone before now.

"You aren't at Hogsmeade," he said when she stopped in front of him.

"Detention with Snape. You?"

A look wrinkled his face, but it vanished before she could commit it to memory. He shrugged. "I got into an argument with my aunt and uncle before leaving. They wouldn't sign my permission slip."

Kali's brows shot up. "That sucks."

Harry nodded and jumped when Pan brushed against his leg. _"_ _He's kind of scrawny, isn't he?_ _"_ said Pan.

_"He's a teenage boy; that's how some of them look."_

She had only spoken to Harry once since starting at Hogwarts, but she had heard the stories about him. Her gaze flicked to the scar on his forehead, partially hidden beneath his hair— _the Boy Who Lived_ , a legend even abroad.

He didn't look like much of a legend.

His Muggle clothes hung from his shoulders like from a coat hanger, and a crook bent the bridge of his glasses from one too many breaks and magical repairs. He was just a kid, yet the way some people talked about him you would have thought that he was the wizarding world's greatest and only hope. It was a crappy weight to put on anyone's shoulders, let alone someone who was barely into their teens.

"What were you doing with Professor Lupin?" she asked.

"He invited me to tea." His gaze wandered to Remus's office door, and he smiled. "We talked about the Boggart lesson."

Kali recoiled. It had been over a month since that incident, yet the memory still made her insides squirm and left a bad taste in her mouth. Remus had suggested finding another Boggart for her to practise on, comparing it to getting back on a horse after a fall, but she'd changed the subject.

"Not that part," Harry added, his eyes wide behind the wireframe of his glasses. "I wanted to know why he wouldn't let me face it."

"Because he was worried about Lord Voldemort materialising in the staff room?"

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet hers, and Kali scraped her nails over her palms.

On the rare occasions when You-Know-Who came up in conversation, Remus and Gran had never shied away from speaking his title, so Kali hadn't been taught to fear it, but if one person had earned the right to that fear, it was Harry.

"Yeah," he said. "He figured people would panic."

"That's assuming any of us would have recognised him. It's not like he has his own Chocolate Frog Card, and none of the history books shows his photograph."

A few had described him, but their depiction was unreliable. A man with a pale face, scarlet eyes, and a snake-like nose sounded more like a villain out of a Muggle cartoon than a real person. The lack of accuracy wasn't a surprise. Few people had encountered Lord Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. Those who had were either his allies or their memories had been warped by such a close encounter with death. Even Remus, who had fought in the war, didn't know what You-Know-Who looked like.

"It wouldn't have mattered anyway," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders that sent a ripple down his baggy clothes. "I didn't think of Voldemort."

Kali blinked. Perhaps Harry had nothing left to fear from Voldemort after all.

He shifted his weight, his gaze going over her shoulder to Remus's office, and scratched the back of his neck. "Snape brought Professor Lupin a potion," he said, and Kali re-evaluated her need to get into the teachers' private corridors. Maybe they had magically replicated those Muggle steps that moved upwards and downwards on their own. "He's always wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. Some people reckon he'd do anything to get it."

The implication tilted the edges of her lips. "You think Snape would poison someone for a job?"

"Well, he's not the best person around, is he?"

"True, but to poison a colleague …" Her smile broke out. "That would be pretty extreme."

He followed her lead with a tentative smile that grew as he nodded his concession. "I guess."

Kali rocked back on her heels. The silence stretched, and his smile faded into a polite curve. She bounced onto her toes. "We've got to be the only third-years not at Hogsmeade," she said. "Got anything planned?"

He shook his head, sending his shaggy fringe sweeping his brow. "I was just going to wander around. Maybe visit the Owlery."

"Mind if I join?"

She bit her cheek and forced her expression away from desperate or over-eager and waited. Harry's smile reached his eyes again. "Sure"

They spent the rest of the morning exploring the castle. Harry showed her shortcuts and secret passages he knew about, and they discovered some new ones together. They talked about school stuff, mostly: classes, teachers, homework … And then Harry asked her about her Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and they moved on to music. From there, the conversation flowed from one thing to another.

"Do you want to see something cool?" he asked as they left the Great Hall after lunch.

She grinned. "Always."

Harry led her to the second-floor girls' lavatory, but Kali stopped outside the old, wooden door. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"You know about Myrtle?"

"I talked to her once." Kali shrugged and scuffed the toe of her shoe. "She doesn't like me very much."

His glasses slid half a centimetre down his nose when he frowned. "Why not?"

"Apparently I remind her of a girl who bullied her at school." She pulled Harry closer to the wall as a group of first-years ran past. The younger students slowed, gawping at Harry and, to a lesser extent, at Kali.

It had taken a few weeks, but the novelty of Kali's arrival had worn off. People still stared and whispered; there was still animosity in certain gazes, but for the most part, people had lost interest in the daughter of the infamous Sirius Black, for which Kali felt only relief. As much as she didn't want it to bother her, that blind hatred had a way of clawing at her skin, seeping under it and festering there.

Kali shook off the thought as the first-years turned a corner and ran out of sight. "Myrtle isn't what you wanted to show me, right?"

"No, it's something else," Harry assured her.

He pushed open the door, and they stepped in.

Candle stubs gave off a dull light, glowing off the damp floor and reflecting in the large mirror on the far wall. Cracks and spots marred its surface, distorting its echo of the unused lavatory. A row of chipped sinks hung beneath it, the once white porcelain now a greyish-brown. One sink had been torn from the wall. Large shards of it lay scattered in a corner, and water dripped from its exposed pipes. Flakes and scratches covered the stall doors, one of which dangled off its hinges.

Myrtle floated above it all, wailing as usual, but she stopped when she saw her visitors.

"Oh, Harry!" Her face lit up like a five-year-old being handed an ice cream. "You're back! It's been so long since you've come to visit me!"

Harry raised his hand in an unenthusiastic wave. "Hi, Myrtle."

His less than lively greeting didn't bother Myrtle. She bit her lip and batted her eyelashes and swung her clasped hands from side to side with an energy she could not contain.

"Hello, Myrtle," Kali said.

Myrtle's gaze snapped her way. She glared before turning back to Harry. "Why did you bring _her_ here?"

Harry edged into the room, avoiding the worst of the puddles. "I came to show her something."

Myrtle's face fell. "Oh, so you didn't come to visit me after all."

"Uh—no," Harry said.

Kali elbowed him in the ribs, and he winced. When he shot her a look, she pressed her lips together and tilted her head in Myrtle's direction. He frowned but added, "Maybe I could come back later."

Face lighting back up, Myrtle giggled. "Oh, yes, that would be lovely! Just don't bring her next time." She twirled once in the air and dove headfirst into one of the toilets, splashing water all over the place and vanishing down the drain.

Harry rubbed his side. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome." She grinned and nodded toward the puddle around Myrtle's toilet. "You made her so happy that she gained physical influence. Ghosts don't tend to get much of that unless they're seeking vengeance."

"That's great, but now I have to come to visit her again, and you may have noticed that she isn't the most fun person to be around."

"She's certainly earned her nickname." Kali looked around the shabby bathroom. "Where is this thing you want to show me?"

"Over here." He walked to the sinks in front of the toilets and pointed out a tiny snake scratched onto the side of one of the copper taps. It coiled around the pipe, its edges smoothed by time, its forked tongue tasting the faucet.

Kali ran a finger over it. "An engraving?"

One of her rings clinked against the metal—a snake, like the etching. Silver instead of reddish brown, it wrapped several times around her finger, its eyes dark and judgemental.

According to the man who had given it to Gran—one of her shadiest clients to date—it had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin who had commissioned it for his youngest daughter and enchanted it with a powerful protection spell. The spell, if it had ever existed, had long since faded, but it was a pretty tale for a pretty piece of jewellery.

"It's a secret door," said Harry, and then he did something so unexpected that Kali gaped. He spoke in Parseltongue.

The low hissing rang through the bathroom and stole any hint of warmth from the tiled walls. The candles flickered, Pan's fur stood on end, and Kali bit her lip to stop herself from flinching.

Rarer than Seers and Empaths, a Parselmouth's ability bore unequivocally dark connotations. Every famed Parselmouth had had an unhealthy interest in the darkest of magic: Herpo the Foul, Salazar Slytherin, Lord Voldemort, and most of the Gaunt family. According to many, Parseltongue and moral depravity went hand in hand.

Then again, Kali supposed that most people would say the same thing about all Blacks being rotten to the core.

She ignored the chill that had washed over her and took a step back as the tap flared white. It span on itself with a heavy clunk, and the sink sank out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed.

"It's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said, watching her expression. "Salazar Slytherin built it before he left Hogwarts."

Any trace of dread vanished, and she peered down the dark pipe. "I thought this place was a myth."

"It's real, and so was Slytherin's monster."

She looked away from the darkness below and over at Harry. "Why the past tense?"

"It's dead." Kali raised an eyebrow, and Harry blushed. "I killed it."

Her brows shot up further, but she smiled at the sight of his reddened cheeks. "What was it?"

"A Basilisk."

Of course it had been something serpentine. Kali had never known anyone more obsessed with something than Salazar Slytherin had been with snakes. She resisted the urge to glance down at Harry's thin body. "You fought a Basilisk and won?"

Harry nodded.

"You're more impressive than you look, Harry Potter."

He blushed harder than ever. Maybe people weren't crazy for thinking that this boy could save the wizarding world. Kali wasn't sure how one went about killing a Basilisk, but she couldn't imagine it being easy. "Can we go down?"

"Yeah, it's a bit dirty, though."

Kali grinned. "That's half the fun of an adventure."

She lowered herself into the pipe and let go. As she rushed down the dark slide, cold air whipped her face, sending her hair flying, and slime buried itself beneath her nails. Her shoulders bumped against the sticky walls every time the pipe twisted. Pan turned into a canary and flew down after her, and they fell deeper beneath the school than even the dungeons.

The pipe levelled out, and she shot from it with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel. She rolled to her feet, brushing off some of the muck, and helped Harry to his feet when he landed at hers.

" _Lumos_!" said Harry with a wave of his wand.

Pan flew down the passageway. _"_ _This place is filthy_ _,"_ he said. _"_ _Try not to touch anything._ _Y_ _ou might catch something._ _"_

Kali and Harry started after Pan. The tunnel widened. Small animal bones dotted the floor, and then littered it, and then blanketed it. The little skeletons snapped beneath their feet, and Kali winced at every resounding crack. She tried to avoid stepping on them, but there were so many that she couldn't see the ground beneath them. With a huff and a wrinkled nose, she lifted her gaze in time to notice the outline of something huge and curved lying ahead. Her heart slammed against her chest, and her grip on her wand tightened.

 _"_ _Calm down,"_ said Pan, fluttering above her. _"It's nothing scary."_

The wand light slid over a snakeskin, at least twenty feet long. A dull and murky green, it lay curled and empty across the tunnel floor, falling in on itself in places.

"Wow," Kali whispered.

"You should have seen it when it had teeth," said Harry.

Stepping closer to the skin, she ran a hand over it, her touch light, almost reverent so that she didn't damage it. Wrinkled and cracked, the keeled scales scratched her fingertips. Without sun or heat to dry it out, the damp tunnel had preserved most of its form.

"There's more," said Harry, gesturing toward the other side of the tunnel.

They climbed a pile of rubble and crept around bends until finally a wall rose in front of them. The carvings of two entwined serpents adorned it, their eyes set with fist-sized emeralds that blinked in the light.

Harry cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes flickered. This time when the faint hiss escaped his throat, Kali only shuddered. The serpents parted, and the wall cracked open, the halves sliding out of sight, revealing an abyss.

The wand-light did little to disperse the darkness.

On either side of the path, towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. They cast long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. The hairs on the back of Kali's neck stood on end as the shadows crept around her, coming alive only to escape the dim light. Her git of a brain conjured dark creatures lurking beyond the wand-light, and she edged closer to Pan.

The cavern stretched in all directions beyond the reach of the light. Water trickled, and the light reflected off a slow stream—a subterranean river, perhaps a continuation of the one that had led Kali and the first-years into that underground harbour at the start of term. She focused on that instead of the darkness and tried to figure out which part of Hogwarts sat above her head.

The path drew level with the last pair of pillars, and a statue as tall as the chamber loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Kali craned her neck to look into the giant, water-worn face and followed the trail of its thin beard down to its grey feet, between which lay what remained of the Basilisk.

"Well, this place is morbidly fascinating," said Kali. A tremor snuck into her voice, but she convinced herself that it wasn't noticeable.

She stepped up to the skeleton and ran a hand over the Basilisk's skull. Harry hadn't lied—it was indeed far more impressive with teeth.

A crevice shattered the smooth surface beneath her hand. Narrow and about the length of her finger, it looked as though someone had stabbed the snake through the head with a sword. That wouldn't have been Kali's weapon of choice if going up against a creature whose fangs were longer than her forearm, but it had worked, so who was she to judge?

Going around the Basilisk, she walked up to the statue's huge left foot. Cracks and dints covered its surface.

"Have you ever been rock climbing?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Harry, who shook his head. "It's easy. Come on."

It wasn't that high—less than ten feet—but it wasn't designed to be climbed. Although there were plenty of crevices, they were not conveniently placed. Kali made do with what little upper body strength she had to pull herself up, making a mental note to work a little harder on improving the muscles in her arms and shoulders as she huffed and panted around her wand. She held it between her teeth, unwilling to lose one of the only light sources in the room.

When she finally reached the top of the foot, her shoulders ached and her fingers were numb from the cold. Harry collapsed next to her, gasping.

Pan came to rest on Kali's shoulder. _"_ _Are you trying to kill the boy?_ _"_

 _"_ _He's fine,_ _"_ she said, stroking Pan's head as she sat beside Harry. _"_ _He got up here, didn't he?_ _"_

 _"He looks like he's about to pass out. He's hyperventilating."_ Pan flapped his wings. _"Do you know how far away we are from help if we need it? We could all die down here, and no one would ever find us."_

_"_ _What's with the gloom and doom soundtrack?_ _"_

He squawked. _"_ _It's a reasonable concern!_ _"_

"How long have you and Pan been together?" Harry asked, catching his breath and pushing himself into a seated position.

"About eight years," she said. "We'll be together for the rest of our lives. Pan will age as I do, grow as I grow. We're two halves of one whole."

 _"_ _Poetic,"_ Pan mocked.

 _"Shut up."_ She dropped her shoulders, and his wings fluttered to keep him in place, talons digging into her t-shirt.

"What happens if one half …" Harry let the sentence hang there as uncertainty marred his forehead.

"Dies?" Harry nodded, and Kali shifted, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Theoretically, it's survivable, but in practice … it would be like tearing your soul in half. Physically, you'd be fine, but inside, you'd be damaged beyond repair." She fiddled with one of her rings. "My step-mother used to say that it would be twice as painful as losing your soulmate. Given how she felt when my mum died, I really don't want to test her theory."

"I'm sorry about your mum."

Kali shrugged and tightened her hold on her knees. "You've got your sad backstory; I've got mine. We're not the only ones."

He shifted beside her and crossed his legs, keeping a firm hold on his wand so that it didn't roll over the edge of the giant foot. His voice wavered as he asked, "How did it happen?"

"It was an accident. A Muggle driver lost control of their car, and …" She threw in another shrug, this one jerkier than the last. "Just one of those things that happens."

"But you blame yourself," he said, no doubt remembering that bloody Boggart.

Had Kali imagined this reunion with her childhood friend whom she had been too young to remember, it would not have gone like this. Emotions grappled and formed a tight ball that tried to wedge itself in her throat, but she straightened and ignored it.

"It's stupid," she said, keeping her gaze dead ahead and twisting her lips into a self-deprecating smile that pulled on the muscles of her cheeks. "I was nine-years-old and bed-bound because I'd eaten something I shouldn't have. I was miserable, but there was this book that had just come out. I begged for it, and my mum went to buy it."

The dripping water echoed through the cavern and struggled to fill the silence, splashing into puddles and grating Kali's nerves. She squeezed her wand, and its light wavered. A list of spells ran through her mind, ones that might obliterate the dripping, each noisier than the last, but she forced herself to loosen her hold and breathe.

"It was nothing more than one stupid stroke of bad luck after another," she said, the words rough and hard.

"You couldn't have known," Harry said. Not loud enough to echo through the chamber, the words faded the moment they left his mouth. "It isn't your fault."

Her eyes stung, and she rubbed at them with harsh strokes. "Sure."

His mouth opened, but no words came out, and Kali regretted her tone. He was the first person she had met who could understand, at least partly, what she had gone through. His parents had died when he was young—too young to have got to know them. Kali couldn't decide if that was better or worse, but she didn't envy his situation.

A draught blew past, and she rubbed the goosebumps covering her bare arms.

"You're cold," said Harry as he pulled off his hoodie and handed it to her. A t-shirt poked from beneath his hand-knitted jumper, bringing him up to a previous three layers of clothing as opposed to her one and a bit—the training bra didn't really count.

"One of us obviously knows what to expect of Scottish weather more than the other," she said, pulling the hoodie over her head.

Harry smiled, but he kept watching her with a hint of worry in his eyes. "So you've been with Professor Lupin ever since your mum died?"

She nodded and pulled her hair from beneath the sweater's fabric. "He's my godfather. I've known him my whole life. For a while, he and my step-mother raised me, but Leilani passed away last year after a Quidditch accident."

His face drained of colour. Kali could have laughed at the morbid turns this conversation kept taking if not for the pit in her stomach.

The horror and dread darkening Harry's features suggested that he played Quidditch. "What kind of accident?"

"A Bludger. She'd been playing professionally for years. It was her first and last injury."

"I'm sorry."

She rubbed the frayed knee of her jeans. "She was thinking about retiring in a couple of years. Maybe going to teach at Ilvermorny or San Francisco with Remus."

Harry moved around. Whether it was from physical or emotional discomfort, Kali couldn't tell, but she could no longer feel her backside because of the cold stone beneath her.

When he found a comfortable position, he asked, "Those are the American schools of witchcraft and wizardry?"

"Two of them. America's a big continent. The US alone has at least one school per State. Texas has three. Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo in Brazil are the only ones that are recognised internationally because they were the first built by European colonisers."

Harry played with the sleeves of his jumper. They rode up his wrists, the only item of Muggle clothing she'd seen on him that wasn't too big. "I didn't know there were any other magic schools out there."

Kali tore her gaze away from the careful handiwork of someone skilled with a needle and thread and frowned. "You though wizards only existed in the UK?"

"No. I knew other countries had witches and wizards. I guess I never really thought about it." He shrugged. "It must be nice. Getting to travel and see different places."

Rolling her lip between her teeth, Kali fingered the tattered edges of the over-sized hoodie's sleeves. "Do you not travel much with your family?"

"My aunt and uncle take my cousin to the beach sometimes."

"You don't go with them?"

"I'm never invited." He stared into the darkness, his expression tight and his shoulders rounding in on themselves.

Kali hesitated. The urge to press the matter ate at her, but his body language warned her off. "How come you can speak Parseltongue?" she asked, livening her tone and rocking to the sides to warm her cold bottom. "It's hereditary, right? So one of your parents had the ability? Or is it a recessive trait?"

"I became a Parselmouth when Voldemort gave me this." He pointed at the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

Kali stilled, her brain whirring. "That's … odd."

"He accidentally transferred some of his powers to me that night," he said, not with any kind of pride but with a deep unease—an unease that spread through Kali like a battering ram. Her legs ached to get her the hell out of there, but she stayed and tried for yet another change of subject.

"You're awfully trusting. Did you know that?"

He looked over at her. The movement rearranged his fringe, creating a gap through which his scar showed. A shade darker than his skin, it followed the same pattern as the wand movement that accompanied the Killing Curse: down, over, and down again.

Kali couldn't begin to understand why Voldemort had tried to murder a child, and she had even less clue as to how he could have failed.

The first matter was perhaps a simple one: he was just that evil. It wasn't a comforting thought, but at least it answered the question. The second issue, however, was far less easy to resolve. A power transferal made it all the weirder and slightly suspect, but Harry had given her no reason to doubt him, so it wouldn't be fair for her to distance herself.

"I'm practically a stranger," she continued, "yet you decided to show me this place, far away from anyone who could help you if I turned out to be a serial killer. My father is Sirius Black, after all, and he apparently wants to kill you. For all you know, it runs in the family. If you had any self-preservation instinct at all, you would never speak to me again."

Harry smiled, not even mildly concerned that she might be telling the truth. "You're not your father."

His words soothed a nerve that had been stinging ever since that night in July when Aurors had broken into Gran's flat, a nerve that ached all the more with every stare thrown her way and every harsh whisper uttered behind her back.

Kali's lips curved into a smile. "Good answer, Potter."

"You're not what I expected," he admitted.

She snorted, expelling air in a guffaw that eased the last of the tension from her shoulders. "I'm not what you expected for the daughter of a suspected mass murderer? Thanks."

He bumped her shoulder with his. "No, really. You're nice."

She grinned and leaned in closer in a conspiratorial sort of way. "I'm not actually that nice." She threw in a wink and watched as he turned scarlet, both of them laughing when his face matched Gryffindor's main colour. "We should probably get back to the castle. Wouldn't want to miss the Halloween Feast."

*******

"That was the best feast yet," said Daphne as she, Kali, and Blaise collapsed on a silver-lined couch in the Slytherin common room's main parlour.

The flames from the candles and the many fires shone over the rivulets of silver that streaked the polished rock walls of the underground chamber. Behind the Basilisk-sized snake statue on the other side of the room, the giant glass window showed the dark depths of the lake.

According to Blaise, only Slytherins could appreciate this room's grandeur. If a non-Slytherin walked through the hidden dungeon entrance, the common room cast an illusion over itself so that the unwanted visitors saw only a bleak, damp cavern.

If that was true, it had to be a powerful illusion.

Mapped like a twisting serpent, a winding path led from the entrance to the main sitting area.

Along that path, neatly tucked away in alcoves that ranged in size, were the common room's personal library, a couple of secondary sitting rooms, the trophy room filled with centuries' worth of prizes earned by Slytherins, brewing stations full of bizarre ingredients and rare collections that allowed for experiments at any given time, and a study room equipped with desks and practice dummies to invite students to master every aspect of their education.

The main sitting area had no less than four fireplaces and enough couches and armchairs to comfortably seat every Slytherin in the school and then some. Aquariums, statues, and bookshelves dotted the room, making it impossible to get a clear view of the entire floor plan.

The high ceiling was domed like that of a cathedral and overlooked two stone balconies, which belonged to two more drawing rooms, one for each of the dormitories.

Salazar Slytherin had spared no expense when he had built this room, and it showed.

"I cannot move," said Kali, her fingers trailing over the soft green blanket that had been thrown over the back of their couch. She had eaten more than should have been physically possible, but she did not regret it for a moment.

"I still don't understand how you can eat the way you eat and look the way you look," drawled Blaise, lounging on Kali's other side.

"It's called exercising," she said. "You should try it. It's fun."

Blaise scoffed. "I am not agreeing to any activity that makes me get out of bed at the ridiculous hours you do."

"I do not get out of bed at ridiculous hours."

"I woke up at seven yesterday, and you were already gone," Daphne pointed out.

"Extenuating circumstances," said Kali. "I had to finish the Transfiguration essay Professor McGonagall gave us."

"You finished that essay days ago," said Daphne.

"I wanted to add a couple of paragraphs about the risks that spell could have if cast on a magical creature."

Blaise twisted and heaved his legs onto Kali's and Daphne's laps. "Well, go on then," he said, "educate us."

Before Kali could explain the dangers of transfiguring a creature with magical properties due to the changes it caused on a cellular level, shouting erupted from the common room entrance. A moment later, Percy Weasley, the Head Boy, elbowed his way into the main sitting room.

"You are all to make your way to the Great Hall immediately," he said with a self-important tone and a chin raised as far up as it would go.

"Why?" asked Gemma Farley, a seventh-year prefect.

"Headmaster's orders. Now get to it."

Gemma was a nice enough person, but her eyes narrowed at his words and her fingers twitched toward her wand. The common room held its breath, waiting for fireworks that never came because a first-year ran in after Percy. He panted as he shouted for all to hear, "The Fat Lady was attacked. They're saying it was Sirius Black!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. My exams have me so preoccupied that I’m forgetting what day it is.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and as always, comments are greatly appreciated!


	9. The Family Resemblance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: While her classmates went to Hogsmeade, Kali Black discovered something about Professor Snape and then spent the day getting to know Harry Potter only for Sirius Black to break into the school while everyone was enjoying the Halloween feast.

Hundreds of running footsteps echoed through the entrance hall like heavy raindrops during a storm. Soles slapped against the marble floors, and whispers bounced off the stone walls in a quiet roar of fright.

“Hurry up,” Severus snapped at two slow-moving second-years.

They scurried away faster than mice fleeing from a snake and darted into the Great Hall clutching toiletry bags and stuffed animals. The stream of late-comers slowed to a trickle, yet Severus’s skin continued to itch. Every glimpse of dark hair made his fingers twitch for his wand, but every time, it was only another student.

“That should be all of them,” said Pomona Sprout, red-faced and panting, her round eyes darting from student to student. She too fingered her wand, stroking it in time with her heavy breaths.

“Potter?”

She nodded in the direction of the Great Hall. “He was among the first in. Albus made sure of it.”

Severus followed her line of sight. Potter loitered with Weasley and Granger beside a row of purple sleeping bags, not a scratch on any of them. Potter kept glancing toward the other side of the Hall where Kali Black stood, her skin devoid of colour, her eyes fixed on a spot over Greengrass’s shoulder. Many other gazes turned in her direction, searching for signs of guilt.

From this distance, Severus couldn’t perform Legilimency. She looked innocent enough; scared and confused, much like her classmates, but she had already proven to be her father’s daughter.

Albus and Minerva exited the Great Hall and joined Severus and Pomona.

“Shall I fetch the Dementors, Professor?” Severus asked. With all of the students in one place, the guards should have no trouble sniffing out Sirius Black. They could have him thrown back in his cell before the day ended.

“No,” said Albus, stopping Severus’s fantasies in their tracks. “I warned Cornelius. So long as I am headmaster, no Dementor will cross this school’s threshold.”

“Professor—”

“I’m afraid my decision is final. I shall inform the Dementors that Mr Black has made it into the castle and tell them to watch the perimeter.”

“Is that wise, Albus?” asked Minerva. “They won’t take kindly to being told to stand down.”

“I don’t imagine so, no, but I neither do I plan on giving them a say in the matter.” He drew his wand and, in a single motion, closed the door to the Great Hall and cast a Patronus. “Minerva, would you be so kind as to allocate each teacher a section of the castle to search? It seems unlikely that Mr Black would linger, but one never knows.”

He started toward the entrance without waiting for a reply, and Minerva began passing instructions to Pomona without giving one.

Severus followed Albus. “Professor, have you given any thought as to how Black got in?”

“I have had a great many thoughts, each as unlikely as the last.”

“I believe I know how he did it. I’ve already expressed my concerns over your appointment of Lupin to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. This confirms that I was right. Lupin was absent during dinner.”

“Though I appreciate your attention to the situation, Remus’s absence confirms nothing at all. The full moon is tomorrow, and Remus needs his rest.”

“Sir—”

“I do not believe that anyone in this castle would help Sirius Black break into it.” The silver Phoenix flew an impatient circle over their heads. “Now, please offer you assistance to Minerva. If Mr Black is still here, we must apprehend him.”

Unclenching is jaw, Severus said, “Of course, Professor.”

With the Phoenix trailing silver light behind them, it and Albus disappeared into the night, heading toward the gates where hundreds of Dementors waited. Severus could hope that the guards disobeyed Albus’s order, but he knew they wouldn’t. He had seen how brightly that Patronus could shine.

Spinning on his heels, Severus clenched his hands into fists, ground his teeth, and slapped his feet against the floor louder than the students’ had.

Minerva directed him to the third floor, and he went without a word. Wand in hand, he poked around behind every suit of armour, every painting, and every tapestry. He cast disillusionment charms and revealing charms, prepared to go on the offence at the slightest sign of movement, but the person he found was not one he was allowed to attack, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Lupin walked down the Charms corridor. His eyes swept from side to side, but his posture remained relaxed, his wand hanging loosely from his fingertips.

“Some Defence Against the Dark Arts professor you are,” said Severus, loud enough for his voice to echo. “Anyone could catch you unawares.”

With neither a startled jump nor a tensing of his shoulders, Lupin turned with a smile on his face. “I knew you were there, Severus.”

The nostrils of Lupin’s big nose flared, and Severus’s spine straightened. Through the hallway’s windows, the moon hung, a day away from being full.

Its pale light glowed in Lupin’s eyes and turned his smile into a baring of fangs. Severus remembered those fangs. In reality, they had been a room’s length away when James Potter had found him and dragged him away from the Shrieking Shack, but in his memories, they snapped an inch from his throat, close enough to feel the heat of breath against his skin and sense the sharpness of those teeth and the power behind those jaws.

Another nostril flare made Lupin wince. His gaze darted from Severus to the moon and back only to drop to the floor a moment later.

Fingers digging into his palms, Severus clenched his jaw hard enough that he was surprised when his teeth did not wear down to dust. No amount of skill at Occlumency could disguise scent, and his father had often said that fear was the smelliest of human emotions. There should be a potion to mask it. If there wasn’t Severus would make one. He could create a collection: The Anti-Werewolf Kit, complete with a silver bullet engraved with your troublesome mutt’s name.

His wand warmed between his fingers. He wouldn’t need a silver bullet to get the job done. Any number of curses or potions would work just fine, but Lily had hated that fact.

“Magic is special,” she had said once. “Killing it should require something special, too.”

She had loved Muggle fantasy films for that reason. Even when every detail was wrong, even when magic was cast as the enemy, her eyes had remained glued to the screen, enjoying the imaginary rules of balance.

Her words rang more false now than they had then. If destroying something special required a weapon of equal  extraordinariness , the Killing Curse should have  left her  unscathed .

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” said Lupin, and for a moment, Lily stood beside him, wearing her prefect badge and her secret smile, a ghost made out of memories that would never fade.

She had haunted Hogwarts since Severus’s arrival months before she had died. After the cursed night at the end of October, the occurrences had worsened. For a year, she had not left her side, yet she had remained out of reach, often only visible from the corner of his eye. Now, she appeared only on Halloween, a yearly reminder to Severus of his failures. He had killed her, but she had only kindness and smiles for him; things he did not deserve.

“Thank me for what?” Severus asked, the sharpness of his tone dissipating Lily’s spectre.

“The Wolfsbane Potion. You brew a far better concoction than what I’m used to.” He smiled again, smaller this time, not showing his teeth.

This had always been Lupin’s game. He acted the part of a put-upon Jiminy Cricket, the voice of reason never heeded, but beneath the cardigans and elbow patches, his gentle manners and even temper hid a monster.

“Have you found anything?” Severus asked, peering down the way Remus had come.

“No. Black would have left once the Fat Lady refused to let him into the Gryffindor common room. He wouldn’t risk getting caught.” Remus jaw rolled around the words, chewing each as though preparing to spit them out, but instead, they left his mouth like demure ladies, quiet and unassuming.

Severus's own jaw clenched. “How lucky we are to have you here, Lupin, you who knows this madman so well.”

“Not well enough, apparently.”

“It’s fortunate that Azkaban has muddled Black’s brain so much that he can’t tell what day it is any more. For him to pick the one evening when the entire Gryffindor tower is empty … What could he have been thinking?”

Spots of yellow overpowered the green of Lupin’s irises, more wolfish than human, yet unwavering with the steady, controlled danger of a man rather than a beast. Lupin had always been clever. He had masterminded a decade’s worth of tortures masquerading as pranks, letting others get their hands dirty to preserve his reputation.

“You look like you have an idea,” said Lupin with the gentle tone of a suspicious mind planning several moves ahead.

“I noticed the Firewhisky bottle in your office when I delivered the Wolfsbane potion this morning. Perhaps Black was also celebrating an anniversary.”

There it was: the flinch. Lupin recoiled and in doing so lost some of his height. For the first time since third year, Severus could look down on him.

“I know what you think of me, Severus, but I had nothing to do with the attack on Lily and James.”

“Yes, you did.” The snarl made his throat itch, but the words kept tumbling out, eager for freedom. “You and Black were attached at the hip. You should have known what he was doing, but you remained blind even after he—”

He cut himself off, sucking the rest of his sentence into his chest, leaving the hallway silent and airless.

Lupin bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

The itch spread from Severus’s throat to the rest of him, an irritation he could not scratch. If not for Lupin’s blindness, Lily might still be alive. Instead, she was dead, and Lupin and Severus were alive, the half-breed and the turncloak, whose actions were as responsible for killing her as the Dark Lord was.

“Keep your apologies, Lupin. They’re worth as much as you are.”

Lily whispered in his ear, a familiar hiss about being nicer to people. Hexes jumped through his mind, each more painful than the last, anything to put Lily’s ghost to rest, but Dumbledore had given him orders. He spun on his heels and caught a glimpse of red hair that vanished before he could see her face.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he marched away.

***

“This is unacceptable,” said Minister Fudge.

The early morning light shone off of his sweaty forehead like a second sun that Severus could not look at without squinting. Every metallic contraption in Dumbledore’s office glowed from the same effect, leaving no safe space upon which Severus could rest his eyes. He would not stare at his lap like a moping child while Lupin sat beside him, so he let the reflected light stab his eyes, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to look away.

“Sirius Black was here,” said Fudge, his voice and jowls shaking, his pale face as livid as it was capable of becoming. “How could you let him slip away?”

“Mr Black has always had an affinity for escaping figures of authority,” said Dumbledore, sipping his tea as though he were discussing a misbehaving student instead of a deranged murderer.

“He climbed onto the roof one time after I caught him stripping the leaves from one of my Mandrakes,” said Pomona.

The muscles beneath Lupin’s thin trousers bunched. He shouldn’t be here. Dumbledore had summoned all the Heads of Houses to discuss new security measures and had included Lupin in the invitation. Dumbledore’s naivety knew no bounds.

Fudge rose from his seat for the third time since his arrival and paced the length of the office, every step worsening the hitch in his breath. “He has to be found. How quickly did the Dementors get to the castle after Black was spotted? Perhaps if we moved them closer, we could better their response time—”

“I did not allow the Dementors into the castle.”

Fudge stopped mid-pace. His skin lost what little colour it possessed, and he turned to Dumbledore, one foot still in the air, his mouth opening and closing, releasing only a high-pitched whine.

“I will not subject this school or its students to the Dementors’ presence. Not again.” Dumbledore’s eyes hardened the way they had after the news of the Dementors’ search of the Hogwarts Express had reached the castle. His gaze cleared and filled with benignity only a moment later. “Besides, it would seem that Mr Black has found a way of hiding himself from Dementors. He’s duped them twice now that we know of.”

“That isn’t possible,” said Fudge, collapsing in his chair. “How is that possible?”

Dumbledore’s steady gaze turned to Lupin, who cleared his throat and shifted in his seat to face the Minister, turning his back on Severus.

“We know very little about Dementors, Minister,” said Lupin. “Everything we have discovered has been accidental or through distant observation. No one has ever opted to research Dementors thoroughly because of the effect they have on people. We know that they don’t eat the way we do, instead feeding on positive emotions and memories. We know that they don’t sleep but will hibernate when they’re without a food source. We haven’t found a way to kill them, but we can repel them with the Patronus Charm, a spell of pure happiness, which suggests that although Dementors’ appetites seem bottomless, their tolerance is not.”

“What is your point, Professor?” asked Fudge, his unfocused eyes flicking from Lupin to Dumbledore.

“Until we understand Dementors, we cannot know how Sirius Black is eluding them.”

Dumbledore’s attention fixed itself onto Fudge with a calculating look worthy of any Slytherin. Severus scrunched his brow and tried to guess at whatever scheme the headmaster had cooked up this time.

Fudge dabbed at his wrinkled forehead with an already soaked handkerchief. “What are you suggesting?”

“It would be wise to do now what has been avoided until this point,” said Lupin. “I would recommend that you form a team of researchers tasked with understanding Dementors.”

“Who would agree to be part of such a team?” asked Minerva from where she stood to the side of Dumbledore’s golden chair. “You said so yourself, Remus, people avoid Dementors for a reason.”

“It would have to be volunteers only”, said Dumbledore. “Anything else wouldn’t be fair. Full medical care for the position would have to be covered, and a hefty remuneration would preferably be offered.”

Fudge shook his head, setting his jowls aquiver. “The Ministry has neither the manpower nor the resources for an undertaking like that. Sirius Black has us stretched thin enough already.”

“This will help you catch Mr Black, Cornelius. Knowing how he gets past Dementors will allow us to run counter to his attempt the next time he makes a move. Surely you can understand that.”

Colour returned to Fudge’s cheeks in a flare of pink, and his chair rocked on its hind legs as he rose. Had Severus been on the receiving end of Albus’s patronising tone, he would have made sure his chair toppled and would have wanted to add in a few more loud, angry noises to voice his indignation, but Fudge’s ire showed only on his face.

“Black figured out how to trick Azkaban’s guards without a research team or funding,” said Fudge. “A man as brilliant as you should manage to do the same. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting at eight.”

He didn’t wait for a dismissal or a goodbye. The fireplace’s flames flared green, and he was gone.

Dumbledore’s gizmos filled the ensuing silence with ticks and whistles, which seemed to grow louder the longer unspoken sentiments filled the room. The pouches under his eyes sagged and grew when he rubbed his temples, his vibrant energy finally leaving him after a sleepless night and an unsuccessful meeting.

Pomona clucked her tongue, always the first to break long stretches of quietness. “That could have gone better.”

A scoff escaped Minerva, and she resumed Fudge’s pacing.

From the seat beside Lupin’s, Filius asked, “Is it wise, Albus, to alienate the Minister?”

“No, it is not. I’m afraid I let frustration get the better of me.” Dumbledore removed his hands from his temples, but not even a new light of resoluteness could erase the signs of age and exhaustion. “I’ll write to Cornelius later today after I have had a nap, and I will mend our damaged bridges.”

“What was all that about doing research on Dementors?” asked Minerva, halting her footsteps in a patch of sunlight. “What do you hope to achieve with that?”

Severus could always count on her to ask the questions he didn’t dare pose directly.

“I told you what I hope to achieve: to find out how Mr Black is evading the Dementors.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed, and Dumbledore continued, “I doubt the knowledge will help us in capturing him. It may take years to unravel the inner workings of Dementors, but I believe that the information could prove useful in the future, perhaps against a new foe”—he looked at Severus—“or an old one.”

A familiar weight attached itself to Severus’s eyelids. They flagged shut for half a moment until he felt Lupin’s gaze burning the side of his skull. He turned with a glare, and Dumbledore clapped his hands.

“If that is all, I shall go for a kip.”

No one argued.

Severus tried to outdistance the other professors on his way out, but Lupin’s long legs kept pace. He was alone. Lily’s ghost had left their side for the time being.

“What do you want, Lupin?”

“To try and apologies again for last night.”

“Did I not make my thoughts on that clear enough to you?”

When Severus entered a stairwell that led directly to the dungeons, Lupin followed and said, “We aren’t children any more, Severus. We’re colleagues, and Dumbledore trusts you. I would like for us to put aside our differences and try to at least be civil.”

Severus spun and lost his footing. He tripped down a step, reaching for something to steady himself on as Lupin grabbed for the front of his robes. Severus saw the hand coming, faster than he had expected, and flinched, worsening his stumble.

 _“You don’t see it coming the first time,”_ his mother had told him, rubbing arnica ointment over his wrists and arms, the bruise on her own cheek a sickly purple. _“Sometimes, even the second one is a surprise as if you’ve convinced yourself that the first time was an accident, a figment, anything but the truth.”_

Severus had always seen it coming. He had inherited a lot from his mother, but not her delusions. He had always known when pain was on the way; he could feel it in his bones even if he could never escape it.

Lupin’s fingers wrapped in the fabric of Severus’s robes and dragged his fall to a halt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice and composure firmer than last night, stronger. The beast was gone from his eyes, leaving behind nothing but green.

How Severus hated green eyes nowadays.

“Sorry won’t bring her back,” he said, yanking Lupin’s hands away from his collar.

“Neither will hating me.”

Lupin didn’t flinch this time, and it made Severus's gut thunder. Any mention of Lily or the consequences of his actions should make him cower and drown him in regret until the air left his lungs and the waters chocked him. It should make him hurt.

Lupin’s fingers curled at his side, as rigid as claws but less deadly.

Curiosity had brought him here. He had sacrificed his pride two days in a row because he wanted something, and Severus knew what it was. Dumbledore could not be wooed or tricked into revealing his secrets, so Lupin had turned to someone he thought could, someone he believed Dumbledore trusted.

Severus had not doubted that Lupin was in league with his old friend, but now he knew for sure, and if Dumbledore would do nothing about it, he would.

***

Severus burst into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom the next day, startling the students who had been chattering without a care in the world.

Yesterday's full moon had exhausted Lupin. Guilt over helping Black or irritation that his partner in crime had failed to achieve their goal had leaked into the wolf’s consciousness, making for a painful night even with the Wolfsbane Potion. Lupin had informed Dumbledore that he was in no state to teach, and the old man had offered the job to Severus for the day. It was not permanent. Dumbledore had made that clear, and Severus cursed him again because of it.

“I will be teaching this class today,” he said, his robes billowing as he marched to the front of the room.

His Slytherins raised their brows but smiled at him while the Gryffindors stared with bovine eyes. Only Kali Black looked unsurprised by this news, leaning back in her chair, looking bored. How like her good-for-nothing father she was. Not two days ago, Severus had seen fear and uncertainty in her eyes, but it had vanished in the light of day.

Granger raised her hand. “But, sir—”

“Quiet,” he snapped, sparing a glance for Lupin’s orderless desk. “It would seem Professor Lupin does not have a lesson plan—”

The classroom door burst open, and Potter dashed in, his robes wrinkled, his tie crooked, and his hair a rat's nest.

Severus couldn't be surprised. He was sure that Potter took full advantage of the less strict professors’ leniency: arriving late, not doing the work, expecting to fly by on his name alone just like his father. Severus wouldn’t stand for it. He had built the kind of reputation and authority over the years that meant that students were seldom late for his lessons, but they were appropriately punished when they were.

“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter,” he said, ignoring the fact that he had also been late, “so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down.”

Showing his usual arrogance and lack of respect, Potter did not move. “Where's Professor Lupin?”

“He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” said Severus with a twisted smile. “I believe I told you to sit down?”

Potter stayed where he was. The nerve of that stupid boy. “What's wrong with him?”

“Nothing life-threatening,” he said, although he wished it were. “Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”

With a scowl belonging to a petulant child, Potter walked at a Flobberworm's pace to his seat. Severus spared him a brief withering glance before looking around at the class.

“As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far—”

Granger’s hand shot up, but she didn’t wait to be called upon to speak. The words spilt out of her like a broken faucet. “Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows, and we're just about to start—”

“Be quiet,” he said, not even needing to raise his voice to freeze the room. He’d been hoping Lupin wouldn’t leave a detailed note as to which topic he wished for Severus to cover with his class. It made Severus’s goal far easier to reach. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation.”

“He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had,” said the Thomas boy.

Severus waved away the class’s murmur of agreement. “You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you. I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss”—he flicked through the textbook to the chapter at the back and curved his lips to hide his sneer—“werewolves.”

Black sat up straight, losing the unpolished posture that probably had Walburga Black turning in her grave. The girl’s features hardened into a glare, one far more impressive than her father’s. Much like Potter, Sirius Black had always veered toward petulance. Severus returned her scowl with a dark smile.

“But, sir,” said Granger, with that irritating inability of hers to restrain herself, “we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks—”

“Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glanced around the classroom. “All of you! Now!”

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering from the Gryffindors, the class opened their books.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” asked Severus.

They all sat in motionless silence, too bone-idle to read a simple textbook before coming to class; all except for Granger, whose hand, as it so often did, shot upward.

“Anyone?” he said, ignoring the annoying girl.

Black raised her hand, storm clouds in her eyes, but he ignored her too. He couldn’t have her twisting the facts to suit herself and Lupin. His sneer returned.

“Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between—”

“We told you,” said the Gryffindor Patil twin. He wouldn’t have been able to say what her first name was. He didn’t care. “We haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on—”

“Silence!” The word came out as a snarl, but he steadied it with a breath and returned to a tone of foreboding calm. “Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are.”

“Please, sir,” said Granger, whose hand was still in the air, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf—”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” he said. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Shame darkened the girl's cheeks. She dropped her hand into her lap and lowered her head until her awful hair hid her face. If Severus wasn’t mistaken, tears filled her eyes.

Weasley went the same shade of red as Granger, but his eyes blazed with outrage, not embarrassment. “You asked us a question, and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?”

Anger sparked in Severus's gut, cold and electric. He advanced on the boy as the room held its breath.

“Detention, Weasley,” he said, his voice soft, his face level with the awful boy’s. “And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. The students sat and took notes on werewolves from the textbook while Severus prowled up and down the rows of desks, criticising Lupin’s work and speculating on current events.

When the bell rang, at last, Severus held the students back.

“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognise and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.”

Everyone left the room except for Weasley, who walked up to the front desk like a man facing the gallows, and Black, who sat at her desk, arms folded over her chest, her defiant eyebrows set in a scowl. She had not stopped glowering at Severus since the beginning of the lesson.

He found a perverse joy in her rage. “Can I help you with something, Miss Black?”

“I would like to have a word with you, sir,” she said.

“Give me a moment to deal with Mr Weasley first.”

She nodded, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she clenched her mouth shut, and Severus appraised her restraint—a trait her family was not well-known for possessing.

Black had spent the past two months as a thorn in his side, questioning him and criticising him in his classroom. No matter how many detentions he gave her, no matter what he made her do during those hours, she never seemed to care, and she never stopped. She toyed with him like a cat batting at a fangless snake. Now, he would reverse the roles.

“Weasley,” he snapped, drawing the boy's attention away from Black. “You spoke out of turn today, and that is unacceptable. I am your teacher, and you must learn some respect. As punishment, you shall report to the hospital wing every evening this week, and you shall scrub out the bedpans. Without magic.”

Weasley turned a furious shade of red. He opened his big mouth, but Severus cut him off. “Unless you wish to make it two weeks, I would suggest that you leave.”

The boy pressed his lips into a tight line and stormed out. Severus turned his focus onto Black.

“Know that I am not in the mood for your mindless defiance, Miss Black. Unless you wish to find yourself in detention alongside Mr Weasley, I would suggest you think carefully about what you’re about to say.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to say,” she snapped, her self-restraint gone. “What is your problem?”

“You want to be mindful of that tongue of yours. It will get you into serious trouble one day.”

Evidently, Lupin was not only a terrible teacher; he was also a terrible parent if Black’s lack of respect for authority figures was anything to go by. Her eyes flared, and the line of her jaw sharpened. It washed over Severus like a balm, like standing beneath a shelter and watching a storm break.

“You’re hoping that my classmates will think back to this lesson, take one look at Remus, and put two and two together, right?” she asked, and her voice shook. “Why?”

Severus shrugged, a lazy lift of his shoulder accompanied by a lazy wave of his hand. “I merely thought that werewolves would make for an interesting topic.”

Her lip curled. “Bullshit.”

“Language,” he said, but it lacked any real bite. She was so like her father, so easy to get riled up.

“Are you that desperate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position that you’re willing to get Remus exposed and sacked? Putting his life on the line for a job? Except you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself because that would mean facing Professor Dumbledore, so you manipulate your students into doing it for you, you cockroach.”

He stood, the backs of his knees knocking his chair to the ground, the crack of wood hitting the floor competing with his ire. “That is enough. I will not be spoken to like this. You owe me your respect—”

“I owe you nothing,” she said, her voice as loud and angry as his. “You had my respect until you started bullying your students. That was your choice, and if you think that choices don’t have consequences, you’re wrong.”

“If you continue to speak to me in that tone, I will—”

“You’ll what?" she asked, her mouth curling into a cruel, disparaging smile. “Take away House points? We both know you won’t do that. Give me more detentions? Go ahead. Because that’s all you can do, right? You can’t suspend me or expel me. Only the Headmaster can do that, and he won’t. So what will you do?”

Severus's skin tightened, and his insides burned. The defiant flame that made Black's eyes glow taunted him. He ground his teeth and forced his words to sound calm. “It may have escaped your notice, but that half-breed you call a guardian is a monster, just like your father is a monster, and sooner or later they will both be put down like the animals they are.”

The muscle in her jaw jumped again, but beyond that, she did not move.

Severus had half-expected an attack; his hand gripped his wand just in case. Sirius would have attacked. The one time Severus had mentioned Lupin being put down like a dog, Sirius had attacked. The half-breed comment had always earned Severus a hex, but one mention of euthanasia had landed him in the hospital wing for two weeks.

Black’s hands didn’t leave the top of her desk, her brightly-coloured nails digging into the wood, tension running through her like a drawn bowstring, turning her fingers into claws. Her next breath shook and filled the silence, and her hands flattened on the table.

“I don’t see how you can judge who the monsters are,” she said. “Remus’s condition was forced on him. But you chose to become a monster.”

His hand twitched around his wand. He tried to brush it off and narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Miss Black.”

She smiled, except it wasn’t a smile at all. It was a baring of the teeth, cold and calculated, and if ever he'd doubted that she belonged in Slytherin, his scepticism was alleviated with that one look.

“Do you not?” she asked. “Why don't you roll up your left sleeves?”

Severus’s blood boiled and seared through his veins. He struggled to unclench his jaw enough to say, “Lupin told you.”

“No.” She sank back into her chair and reclined against the backrest. “Unlike you, Remus is a good person. He wouldn’t go around revealing information he has no right revealing.” Her index finger drew a pattern over her desk. “I won’t tell anyone yours because Remus wouldn't want me to. Perhaps you could thank him for that.”

He sneered. He would not be thanking that mutt for anything.

Black rose and collected her bag. “Pull a stunt like the one you pulled today again,” she said, “and you will discover exactly how much of a disruptive influence I can be.”

“Are you threatening me?”

She arched a delicate brow. The expression didn’t make her look as condescending as her father had on the occasions when he’d worn it, but there was an iciness to it that Sirius had always lacked.

“Are you only just catching on?” she asked. “We’ve already established that there's nothing you can do to stop me. It isn’t difficult, Professor. If you want me to play nicely, you will have to do the same.”

“This isn’t a game, Black.”

She smirked. It was a look Severus had seen not only on Sirius but also on Regulus and on Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Andromeda. It marked the Black family resemblance more than any physical trait ever could.

“Of course it’s a game,” she said and swirled on her heels, leaving the classroom a shade colder than she’d found it.

A tremor bit into Severus's hands. He swiped his arms over Lupin's desk, sending parchment, books, and ink wells crashing to the floor. The shattering of glass and the thumps of fallen objects added to the clamour in his head and pounded against his temples. A bottle of ink remained on Black's desk. He flew at it and hurled it against the wall.

Black tears ran down the white stone, a sluggish race to see which streak would first reach the floor. Severus’s heart rate slowed to follow their progress.

When his breathing evened, he stepped back only for his fingertips to slip over the tabletop.

Ink twirled on the desk, a snake slithering from a skull's mouth.

Severus’s teeth bit into his tongue as he snapped his jaw shut. Curses and swears rang through his head, each worse than the last, but none left his mouth. He swallowed the blood stinging his tastebuds, straightened his spine, and lifted his wand. With a swish of his wrist, he set the room to rights, erasing the past five minutes.

Kali Black was just like her father.

She would regret her actions. Severus would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Snape is a fascinating character, but writing from his point of view was a struggle. I didn’t want to redeem him or demonise him, doing my best to stay fair to his grey morality. I’m not sure how well I managed it, so let me know.
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos!


	10. A Tuneful Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Professor Snape took over Professor Lupin’s class while the latter rested after a full moon. He decided that the most appropriate subject to study would be werewolves. Kali Black stayed after class to inform Professor Snape of her less-than-flattering thoughts regarding him.

“He’s evil, cruel, and bigoted, and he’s not fit to teach,” Kali said, pacing through Remus's sitting room, one hand wrapped around her middle, the other gripping a strand of her hair.

Her veins itched from the fury boiling beneath the surface. She wanted to throw up or hit something, maybe both, although preferably not at the same time. Remus said nothing. He sat back and watched her shout and pace, letting her be angry. She would have preferred to see him get pissed off, but she’d take what she could get.

“He’s despicable,” she added, tugging on her lock of hair and squeezing her stomach tighter.

A man-sized dragon statue that looked more like a winged lizard guarded the entrance to Remus's quarters. It hissed insults through the door whenever Kali got too close to it, and Pan hissed back, a king cobra poised to strike ever since the statue had called him a poor replica of lesser beasts.

“He took away your chance to teach about an issue that directly affects you, to teach it as it should be taught, to educate students on a new perspective. He took away your right to represent yourself, and for that he’s—”

The more she grappled for them, the more the words escaped her. She groaned and dropped onto the couch, running her hands through her hair.

“I hate him,” she said instead. “I hate him, and he deserves to be—”

 _“Throttled?”_ Pan supplied.

Kali let her sentence hang because Pan’s suggestion sounded like a good one, but Remus would disapprove.

The ball of emotion that had wedged itself in her throat since her confrontation with Snape threatened to explode.

It was too much.

First, her father had broken into Hogwarts and had shredded the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor tower, acting precisely like the deranged lunatic everyone thought he was. Now, all those who had stopped treating Kali like she was just as much of a criminal as he was had started up again. Second, Snape had given that horrible lecture on werewolves and demanded that Kali and each of her classmates write an essay on how to kill them. Third, Remus was upset.

It was all far too much.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. “He’s a bad person.”

Remus left his armchair and came to sit next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and resting his chin atop her head. “Professor Snape didn’t have an easy time growing up.”

“Neither did you.” Lycanthropy probably beat whatever Snape had gone through in terms of awfulness. “It isn’t an excuse for being horrible.”

“I know.” He rubbed her arm, his jaw rolling against her head as he weighed the pros and cons of whatever follow-up sentence waited in his mind. “You have to learn to pick your battles.”

He wasn’t talking about Snape any more.

Kali shifted away from him so that she could see his face. The bags under his eyes looked like bruises against his pale skin. “Will you be mad if I pick this one?”

“I won’t be mad. But promise me you won’t …” His sentence trailed off, but she knew what he had wanted to say—some variation of it at least.

“I promise not to maim, scar, or otherwise cause any permanent or serious physical injury,” she said as the ball of anxiety eased into a more minor discomfort.

Remus chuckled and kissed the top of her head, moving on to a less troublesome topic of conversation, but Kali’s mind wandered elsewhere toward the best way to deal with Snape.

*******

On the morning of Hogwarts’ second Quidditch match of the season, Kali woke to a clap of thunder.

Outside, next to the Great Lake, Pan rolled around in the mud as a potbellied pig. _“I would not want to fly today,”_ he said as the rain and hale beat down on him.

His thick skin lessened the downpour’s bite, yet still, it travelled to Kali, who shivered beneath her blankets. She wrapped herself up further, the weight of her duvet pinning her to the mattress, urging her to stay in bed.

 _“This is ridiculous,”_ she said, rolling out of her four-poster’s warm embrace and fighting back a wince as the muscles in her upper back and shoulders protested. _“The players aren’t going to be able to see anything. They should cancel the match.”_

Her bare feet hit the thick green carpet and sank into it. If not for Pan, the freestanding fireplace in the centre of the room would have banished any chill before it reached Kali. Stretching out the post-exercise soreness, she pulled on the cosiest,most waterproof clothes she could find.

Pan sh oo k off the mud and d ove beneath the turbulent surface of the lake,  turning into a narwhal  the moment his feet left the ground .  _ “ It’s Quidditch.  Y ou don’t cancel Quidditch. ” _

_“That is a terrible rule.”_ She rummaged through her trunk and found a bright yellow raincoat. It was less than a year old but no longer fit as well as it used to, leaving her wrists bare.

She would have killed for a pair of wellies, but the best she could  manage w ere combat boots, which were at least more water-resistant than her trainers or  o xford s . That was if she could find them. One had found its way beneath her bed, but the other eluded her.

A ccording to Daphne,  t he third-year Slytherin girls’ dormitory  had grown since last year, morphing from  a square  into a pentagon to accommodate the addition of its newest inhabitant.

Each side of the room was identical if not for the personal touches the girls had added.

A stack of study guides t ee tered on the edge of Daphne’s nightstand next to a moving photo of her sister and parents.  A quilt  embroidered with flowers and birds  hid the  green  school eiderdown that covered Tracy’s  four-poster.  A cat bed lay atop Millicent’s trunk at the foot of her bed for her beloved Kneazle . The top of Pansy’s dresser  disappeared beneath the stack of  present s her parents  and grandparents sent her  every week.

Kali’s side held no personal touches except for a pile of library books  stacked on her desk.

Light flashed through the small windows that gave out onto the dark depths of the lake, the lightning bright enough to penetrate even this far down.  Thunder rang out, and the candles flickered atop the candelabras, glimmering o ver the smooth stone walls: the perfect setting for a gothic horror novel.

Kali rolled her eyes before her imagination could get the better of her and dropped onto her hands and knees to extract her boot from where it had wedged itself between Daphne’s trunk and bedpost.

_ “What time is it?” _ she asked, glancing at her roommates’ empty beds.

_ “ How should I know? ” _

She found her watch on her nightstand. Half-past eight. She’d slept in, which wasn’t surprising given what time she had gone to bed last night, too busy practising the new Charms spell and making good on her promise to work on her upper body strength to look at the time.

Shrugging it off, she left the dormitory and got to the common room in time to hear Draco and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team lamenting to the gathered crowd Draco’s untimely Hippogriff-induced injury, which made them unable to play today.

Kali scoffed as she passed.

“You got something to say, Black?” asked Marcus Flint, the team’s Captain, a tall, broad, dark-haired boy who was retaking his seventh-year because he had failed his exams the first time around.

_ “Do not engage,” _ Pan warned  as he played at poking Grindylows hidden in the seaweed with his sword-like tooth, transforming into a pygmy seahorse until they calmed down, and starting all over again.

She ignored him. “Just wondering if Draco enjoys playing the weakling.”

Colour flooded Draco’s fair cheeks. “I am not weak.”

Vincent and Gregory scowled and flexed their muscles, but Kali tuned them out. “I didn’t say you were weak. I said you were pretending to be, either because you’re a drama king or because you’re scared to go up against Gryffindor.”

The pink flush spread to his neck and ears, a pale blue vein on his temple throbbing. “I’m not scared.”

“So you’re an attention-seeking dramatiser?”

“No.” He clenched his hands into fists and looked like he was about to stomp his foot.

Kali slipped her hands into her coat pockets, doing her best to ignore the fact that the scene had gathered an audience. “Why back out of the game then?”

“My arm isn’t healed yet.”

“You managed to play during the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match last month.”

“I guess I overexerted it.”

“I hadn’t realised you were so frail.”

Muffled sniggers spread through the gathered crowd, and Draco’s skin went from light pink to flaming red. “I am not frail!” he shouted, any hint of composure gone.

“It’s one or the other. Either you’re worried your teammates and yourself aren’t good enough to beat the Gryffindor team, or your body’s too weak to heal from an insignificant little scratch. Or perhaps it’s both.”

“I was attacked by a Hippogriff!”

“And I saved your arse before any real damage could be done. Remember that?”

He didn’t answer, but the thin line of his lips suggested that he hadn’t forgotten.

“Regardless, I was only asking because if the reason for not playing is because you believe that the Gryffindor team is more skilled, then I was wondering if you recall that their Seeker wears glasses?”

“Of course I know Potter wears glasses,” Draco spat. “His eyesight is as awful as the rest of him.”

Kali didn’t roll her eyes, no matter how much she wanted to. “Knowing that, did you stop to think that perhaps this awful weather might be more detrimental to his vision than it would be to yours?”

Silence fell. Draco frowned for a moment before his expression cleared and froze. Whispers broke out around them, and Marcus asked one of his teammates to explain what Kali had meant.

“I’ve seen Harry play during his team’s practices,” she said, still looking only at Draco. “He’s good. Better than you, and you know it. There’s nothing wrong with that, but given the circumstances, you want to be taking every advantage you can get. Low visibility would have worked for you. But, hey, good luck beating Gryffindor when the weather gets better.”

She walked away, slipping through the gathered crowd before anyone could decide that she’d thrown one insult too many. Spotting Daphne over by one of the small clusters of armchairs, Kali headed her way.

“You really shouldn’t rile them up like that,” said Daphne, looking up from her book as Kali plopped down in the seat in front of hers.

Kali shrugged and glanced to her left in time to see the Slytherin team walk past on their way to the Great Hall, each player glaring daggers at her. “I wouldn’t do if they weren’t such gits.”

“Just so you know, if you wear red and gold to the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game, I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.”

Kali smiled. “And here I was, thinking we were friends.”

“We are friends, but I’m not as perilously impulsive as you are.” Daphne closed her book and stood, offering Kali a hand up.

“I’m not impulsive,” Kali said, taking the hand and standing. “All of my actions are perfectly thought out beforehand.”

The two girls headed for the common room entrance, but when their joined hands started drawing too much attention, Daphne took a small step away, extracting her fingers from Kali’s and mumbling, “That makes it so much worse.”

***

Despite the thunderstorm, the whole school turned out to watch the match. Students ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, faces bowed against the wind, which tore the umbrellas from their hands and the hoods from their heads.

The hale pounded against the stands, the trees in the Forbidden Forest swaying and groaning as the rolls of thunder drowned out the crowd's cheers.

Fourteen players flew through the stormy sky, tilting and swerving with the wind, their blurred outlines of scarlet-red and canary-yellow fading as the rain soaked their uniforms until they all wore the same shade of soggy black.

“What’s the score?” Blaise shouted to be heard over the clap of thunder.

“Gryffindor is fifty points up,” Kali shouted back.

Blaise grumbled and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “They’d better catch the Snitch soon, or we’ll be here all day.”

The forked lightning added some light to the pitch but made it all the more dangerous to be out here. Blaise was right; someone needed to catch the Snitch.

Another flash of lightning revealed the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, pelting up the field, a tiny speck of gold shimmering in the rain-filled air in front of him. Harry noticed it, too. He threw himself flat onto his broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch.

Before he could reach it, the world lost its voice.

The wind, though as strong as ever, forgot to roar. The crowd, still jumping and waving its wet banners, went mute. Something moved on the field below, and a wave of cold swept over Kali, burrowing into her.

At least a hundred Dementors stood beneath them.

Freezing water rose in Kali’s chest, cutting at her insides—

_ “ B lock them out. ” _ Pan’s voice broke through the icy mist, and she clung to it.

She melded her mind with his, feeling the wind slice through his feathers, the rain weighing him down, his talons catching in the soaking wet material of scarlet Quidditch robes—

Kali snapped her eyes open and jumped to her feet.

Harry had fallen from his broom. Pan slowed his fall as best as he could, but the weight difference made it an impossible battle. A tall figure rushed out onto the field below, and with a short wand wave, Harry’s fall lost its momentum as though he were plummeting in slow motion. He hit the ground with much less force than he had been going to.

Pan turned into a tiger and stood over Harry’s limp body, baring his teeth at the approaching Dementors. The tall man—Dumbledore—shouted at the hooded figures, but they kept advancing until he cast a Patronus. A silvery phoenix shot from the tip of his wand, and the Dementors scattered. Pan watched Dumbledore as the anger etched into the old man’s face faded until it remained only in his blazing blue eyes.

“I can take it from here, Pan,” he said.

Pan didn’t uncoil his muscles.

_ “ Let him help, ” _ said Kali, and  Pan slowly moved  away from  Harry.

The rest of the players landed in the mud with a squelch. Dumbledore magicked Harry onto a stretcher and strode to the school with Harry floating beside him before the boy’s teammates could crowd in. Pan followed at a trot, his sharp hearing focused on Harry’s uneven breathing and thundering heartbeats. Kali’s heart sped up to match his.

There was a commotion down on the pitch. Diggory waved the Snitch, trying to get Madam Hooch to agree to a Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor rematch, but he had caught the winged ball before Harry had fallen, fair and square.

People rushed from the stands to the castle, and Daphne dragged Kali along behind them.

*******

Harry’s fall was the talk of the school that day. There was a brief worry among the students that he had not survived, but it dissipated when his teammates were let into the hospital wing to visit him.

Harry’s broom hadn’t faired so well. It had flown straight into the Whomping Willow after his fall and had shattered into bits. Kali wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would think to plant such a violent tree on school grounds, but as said school bordered a forest named ‘the Forbidden Forest’ and had housed a Basilisk for hundreds of years, she supposed that student safety was not Hogwarts’ number one watchword.

When Professor Flitwick carried in the remains of Harry’s broom, Draco made a disparaging comment regarding Harry’s flying skills and the Gryffindor team’s dwindling chances of winning the Quidditch Cup. Kali hexed his vocal cords so that he sounded like a monkey whenever he opened his mouth. Fortunately, Gryffindors surrounded her at the time, so he didn’t see who cast the spell. Face red and eyes bulging, he stormed off to his dorm room and locked himself in for the rest of the day, which Kali counted as a win.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend, and while Kali had joined in his steady stream of visitors, Pan had refused to leave his side since the fall.

It was on Sunday night when Kali was wandering the halls—very much out of bounds, but she couldn’t sleep and had needed to take a walk—that Harry had his worst nightmare yet. He’d had a couple last night, waking Pan with his shouting, but nothing compared to this. She was only a couple of corridors away, so she headed that way.

The hospital wing stretched for an eternity in the dark, its vaulted ceiling and tall windows giving it the look of a Muggle place of worship. Instead of pews, neat rows of beds lined the walls, each with its own bedside table and wooden chair. None of the partition curtains were drawn, and only one bed was occupied.

Harry lay in a nest of rumpled sheets, thrashing against them, his facial features scrunched up so tight that it must have hurt.

Kali took a step in his direction, but before she could get much further, Harry jerked awake, bolting upright so suddenly that Kali jumped back. He looked terrified—his eyes wide and his breathing erratic. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand, slammed them on, and searched the room skittishly, pausing as his gaze landed on Kali.

“Kali,” he said a little breathlessly. “It’s past curfew. You shouldn’t be here.”

“You keep waking me up,” she said, gesturing at Pan who snuggled closer to Harry’s side.

Harry’s gaze dropped to the purring cat, and he rubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

She sat in the chair beside his bed. “Don’t apologise. He’s the one who refuses to leave.”

_ “ There’s this little something called watchful vigilance.  L ook it up, ”  _ Pan chirped. 

Kali smiled and rolled her eyes.  _ “ Here I  was  th inking  it was called being an overprotective worrywart.  S illy me. ” _

Pan turned up his little nose and made a show of looking away from her. _“Just because you have a complete disregard for your care and safety does not mean the feeling is universal.”_

“He appears to have taken a liking to you,” she said.

Harry’s smile bloomed. He looked down at his bed companion and scratched under the ruff around Pan’s face.

“What’s keeping you up at night?”

His smile faded.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she added. “But you should tell someone—Ron or Hermione, or anyone.”

Harry stayed quiet for a long while, staring down at his lap and stroking Pan. It got to the point when Kali thought she had better leave, but then Harry started talking. The words slipped from him, slow and uncertain, his voice soft and quivering the entire time.

He told her about the Grim showing itself to him twice, and how near-fatal accidents had followed both appearances—the first time, he had come close to being run over by the Knight Bus; the second, he had fallen fifty feet from his broomstick. He worried that the Grim might haunt him until one encounter finally killed him, that he would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast.

He told her about the Dementors. How he felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them. Everyone said Dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. When close to Dementors, he heard the last moments of his mother's life, her attempt to protect him from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her. Harry told Kali that when he fell asleep, he sank into dreams of rotted hands and petrified pleading, and every time, he jerked awake to dwell on his mother's voice.

Kali listened, letting the words spill from him like a confession.

When he finished, he sagged against his pillows, his chin lolling against his chest.

“I don’t think you’re going to die,” she said after a moment's thought, trying to remember everything she had ever heard or read about death omens. “There are accounts of the Grim existing, but there’s no solid proof that it has ever failed to kill before or shown up more than once for the same person—that I know of. I’ll look into it. It happening twice is still just a coincidence. If it gets to three, that's when it becomes a pattern. We’ll worry about it more then, but try not to die in the meantime.”

Harry chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

“As for Dementors, they feed on happiness by dragging up bad memories. You went through something traumatic at a young age. They must sense that somehow and are drawn to you because of it.”

Harry nodded, but a frown creased his brow. “How do you know all this?”

“My godfather is the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this school has ever seen, remember? That and I’m really, very clever.” She winked at him, and he laughed with her.

“I should let you get some sleep,” she said. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Kali.”

“Oh, and Harry?” She stopped at the door. “Talk to Remus about the Dementors. He can help.”

*******

It had started with Fred and George Weasley laying a Dungbomb trap outside the Slytherin common room on Monday morning after the match. Unfortunately for them, Professor Snape set it off.

The twins received an absurd number of detentions as well as a couple of thinly veiled threats. The upside to this was that Kali had never seen Snape go that shade of puce before—she had been surprised when smoke hadn’t billowed from his ears and nostrils. Never before had anything got under Snape’s skin to that extent, which gave Kali an idea.

The next day, after Professor Snape called Neville Longbottom a blithering idiot, the Potions professor’s hair turned bright purple and his eyebrows grew to match the length of Professor Dumbledore’s beard. A few days after that, he gave detention to some first-years for getting stuck on a trick step, and suddenly whenever he walked onto a staircase, it would turn into a slide, regardless of whether he was heading up or down.

Nothing incriminating was ever left at the scenes. Most people assumed the Weasley twins were the culprits, but they denied it, and they were not ones to disclaim a well-executed prank of their making.

One day, after Snape had been particularly vile during class, Kali decided to enchant  the  coat s of armour in the dungeons to blurt terrible potion puns  whenever someone walked by (What do you call a potion that turns you into a cat? Cat-a-tonic!).

Wand in hand and tongue pressed against her teeth, she repeated the  incantation over and over until it latched onto the armour.  Her temple throbbed with every mental click that pulsed behind her left eye whenever the spell caught, and her ears strained for the sound of an oncoming interruption. When one came, she didn’t hear it coming.

“What trouble is little Kali getting into today?” someone asked.

Kali's hand jerked as her heart leapt, sending the suit of armour flying. It clattered down the hallway, each bang louder than the last until it screeched to a stop. Kali froze in a wince and waited for the slap of startled footsteps.

Peeves, Hogwarts’ resident poltergeist, tutted, floating above her, wearing a smile too big for his face. “No one around to hear, little Kali. Sir Filch is occupied elsewhere.”

"What did you do?” she asked, eyeing the rectangular bulge in his red and yellow polka dot overcoat.

His grin widened. “I'm as innocent as you are.”

With a careful swish and flick, Kali levitated the now scratched hunk of metal back to its raised platform. “Anything I can help you with, Peeves?”

Swimming breaststrokes through the air, he pursed his thin lips into a look of guiltlessness, which his wicked orange eyes belied. “I have something of yours.”

Kali stopped thinking through the polishing spells she knew and turned to Peeves, once again looking at that bulge. “I would have thought that thievery was beneath you.”

“Everything is beneath me. See?” He zoomed to hover above her. “Ha!”

His laughter rang louder than the banging of the suit of armour. Kali cringed and glanced up and down the corridor. “Be quiet. Filch isn't the only one who could show up.”

His laughter died in a second, but his smile remained. “Wouldn't want anyone showing up, would we? Not when I have this.”

He whipped a fat book from beneath his coat.

At the sight of the worn leather cover, Kali pressed her lips together to trap a swear. Her chest rose and fell with two deep breaths, and she dragged her eyes away from the grimoire and over to Peeve's triumphant face. “Give that back.”

“Nope.” He cackled and opened the book to the page a sticky note stuck out from. “Summoning rituals. Why would  little Kali be studying th e se?”

“Curiosity.”

“That's a lie. I found this, too.” A sheet of paper appeared in his free hand, and Kali closed her eyes. “Hobgoblins. Nasty little creatures. Too easily offended if you ask me. So why would little Kali want to summon one.”

“None of your business. Give those back, or I'll tell Filch where you hide all your toys.”

His grin fell.

Pan had stumbled upon Peeve's nest last week. It lay behind the house-elves' living quarters, next to the laundry room, and burst with more jokes and tricks than Zonko's Joke Shop.

He wiggled the book and paper. “If you tell on me, I'll tell on you.”

“I guess that means we have a truce.”

Whipping his head around to make the bells on his hat jingle, he sang in a loud off-key screech, “You win this round, little Kali.”

He bowed, his nose brushing against his curly tipped shoes, and dropped her things. The book smacked against the floor with a bang, and Peeves zoomed off. Kali glared after him. As if she didn’t have enough to do, now she was going to have to find poltergeist repellant charms to cast on all of her things. She brushed the dust from the book and stuffed it and her notes on Hobgoblins into her bag.

She had found the book in the library's Restricted Section, which Professor Flitwick had given her permission to access. She had the beginnings of a plan on how to find out what Hob knew about her father. All she needed were a couple more ingredients and for Peeves to keep his nose out of her business.

Turning to the battered suit of armour, she bit her lip, teeth pressing a little harder at each dent.

Something rasped behind her.

Remus's poltergeist jinx sat on her tongue, but Peeves was never so quiet. She checked the scratched metal breastplate for a reflection, but she stood alone, distorted in the blemished surface. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled as she turned.

A tabby cat with spectacle markings around its eyes sat in front of her.

The tension left her shoulders on a breath of air that was half a sigh and half a laugh. “Hello, Professor.”

McGonagall transformed into her human self in one fluid motion and stared with narrow eyes at Kali and her drawn wand. “May I ask what it is you’re doing, Miss Black?”

Kali smiled and didn’t pocket her wand. There was no point drawing attention to it. “Nothing much, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall gave a non-committal hum, her gaze searching up and down the corridor for anything amiss.

An idea sprang to Kali’s mind as she ran through conversation starters to distract the professor from looking too closely at the suits of armour. “I was wondering if you could help me with something, Professor.”

“What would that be, Miss Black?”

“I was in the trophy room earlier, and I noticed that Slytherin has won the House Cup an inexplicable number of times over the past ten years.”

A scowl crossed McGonagall’s face. “Yes, I’d noticed that also.”

“It coincides with Professor Snape’s tenure here,” Kali added. She wasn’t sure how deeply the solidarity between teachers ran in this school.

“What are you implying, Miss Black?”

“I’m implying that Slytherin students don’t, overall, have a better academic performance or better behaviour than students in other Houses—not enough to justify winning so many times. What we do have is a Head of House who blatantly favours us.”

The professor schooled her features and let out a loud sigh. “It isn’t your place to question Hogwarts professors, Miss Black.”

“It is when the headmaster and the rest of the teachers won’t. You’re all brilliant people, so I imagine you’re aware of the situation.”

“Miss Black—”

“But if you know what’s going on, then you’re being harrowingly negligent toward your students by letting such an unfair situation continue.”

The professor had her mouth open, but her words got lost along the way.

“I can only assume that Professor Snape is teaching here against your wishes, but this problem has to be dealt with.”

With a frown and a slow shake of her head, Professor McGonagall asked, “What do you suggest?”

“By my count, my actions and those of my housemates in all seven years should have led to a combined eighty-five point deduction if Professor Snape weren't so biased and treated us as he treats everyone else. Minus an extra ninety points that he's awarded to his students undeservedly. So one hundred and seventy-five points total. I suggest you take those points away from us.”

McGonagall stared at her. “You want me to take over a hundred points from Slytherin?”

“Professor Snape won’t dock points from Slytherin. I’ve tried to make him. But if you do it—and if you let him know why—perhaps it will incite him to act more fairly in the future.”

“You realise that this would penalise your House.”

Kali smiled and shrugged. “The game is rigged in Slytherin’s favour. Professor Snape is setting us up to win through no merit of our own, but winning is of no value if it isn’t earned.”

Professor McGonagall continued to stare. Kali wondered if she’d gone too far, but eventually, the professor blinked and said, “You’re a very odd child. Did you know that?”

Kali shrugged again. “So you’ll do it?”

But the Professor shook her head. “I can’t undermine another teacher’s authority like that.”

 _In for a Knut, in for a Sickle._ “The other option is for me to cause just the right amount of chaos that you and the other teachers are forced to take the points from Slytherin for my awful behaviour. But I figured you wouldn't approve of that alternative.”

McGonagall gawked at her for a whole minute, eyes wide as though not sure she’d heard right. “Are you threatening to unleash hell on this school if you don’t get what you want, Miss Black?”

“I wouldn’t call it threatening,” Kali said.

McGonagall scoffed, but her strict features softened. “I’ll see what I can do, so don’t blow up half of the school just yet.”

Kali grinned as McGonagall walked away. _“That went better than expected.”_

 _“Do you think it’ll work?”_ asked Pan. He sat outside an unused classroom on the second floor, spying on a pair of redheads and picking up on shenanigan-related tips and tricks.

 _“I don’t know. I get the feeling that Snape isn’t here because he has a passion for teaching.”_ More often than not, it looked as though a perpetual storm cloud hovered above his head. _“But until we figure out what’s making him stay, I don’t think we’ll be able to make him leave.”_

_“We can make him wish he did.”_

Kali agreed and carried on charming the suits of armour. Her patience could be endless when the cause was right. She promised herself that by the time she left this school, Snape would no longer be teaching in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The potion pun is courtesy of a friend who dressed up as Snape for Halloween a couple of years ago and spent the whole evening adding bad jokes to quotes from the HP books and films.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and that the many scene changes weren’t too jarring!


	11. Hobgoblins and Roosters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Harry Potter suffered a nasty fall when a flock of Dementors showed up at the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Kali Black visited him during his stay at the hospital wing and offered to help him research the Grim. Following this event and thanks to Fred and George Weasley, Kali figured out a new way of getting under Professor Snape’s skin. Unfortunately, Peeves interrupted her and threatened to reveal her plan for dealing with the secret the Hobgoblins are keeping from her.

Ginny inhaled dust with every heaving sob.

It scratched her throat and sent her into one coughing fit after the next, her lungs burning and her eyes stinging. Her chest tightened as though her skin were shrinking, her ribcage curling inwards, as though slowly but surely, she were wasting into nothing.

Maybe it was for the best.

She wiped her nose on the tattered sleeve of her robes and opened the folded piece of parchment that someone had stuffed into her Transfiguration textbook.

‘ _Dark witch go home!’_ it read.

The note crumpled between Ginny’s clenched fingers, and she sobbed harder.

Ever since she had returned to school in September, people had been glaring at her in the hallways and calling her names as they shoved past her. Her roommates pretended she didn’t exist, and most of her housemates did the same.

They blamed her for what had happened last year with the Muggle-borns and the Basilisk and Harry. Few knew all the facts, but that didn’t matter. They thought she was a want-to-be Death Eater, an evil witch intent on killing the Boy Who Lived but too weak and pathetic to warrant anything other than disgust.

They wanted nothing to do with her, and she couldn’t blame them. If she had the choice, she wouldn’t want anything to do with herself either.

Last year had tainted her, leaving a dark stain on her soul that stank of corruption.

No matter how much Bill and her mother had tried to reassure her that none of it was her fault and no matter how much the rest of her family tried to pretend that it hadn’t happened, it didn’t help.

She had had her mind and body stolen from her by a force so evil that it had slowly drained the life from her. You-Know-Who had been in her head for a whole year. He’d seen her thoughts and imbued them with his own, and she hadn’t been able to fight it.

If she’d been stronger and smarter, if she hadn’t let him in, none of it would have happened. None of those Muggle-borns would have got hurt, Hagrid wouldn’t have ended up in Azkaban, Harry wouldn’t have had to put himself in danger to save her, and she wouldn’t now have this gnawing feeling in her stomach that was eating her alive.

She cried until she couldn’t any more, until numbness overtook her and she couldn’t feel a thing. Then she lay there, alone and breathing in the dust.

Things had been better over the summer.

Far from Hogwarts, she had been able to forget about it all. She had gone to visit Bill in Egypt with the rest of her family, and she had spent endless days at the Burrow, swimming in the pond, exploring the orchard next to the house, and watching her brothers play Quidditch.

But when they had gone to Diagon Alley to get their school supplies, the dread had settled in her mind and had grown and grown as the 1st of September had drawn nearer.

When finally the time had come to board the train, she had stuck by Ron, Hermione, and Harry, hoping that their high spirits would dissipate her oncoming panic, but Ron had told her to go away, and her hope had shattered.

She had found an empty compartment in which to sit. Every time other students had popped their heads in, searching for seats, she had smiled and waved, but each had taken one look at her and changed their mind.

When the train had stopped, and the lights had gone out, she had made her way to where Ron and his friends sat, and when the Dementor had shown up … She had never felt so cold in her life.

Images had flashed through her mind—Hermione and all the other Muggle-borns dead on the floor; Harry bleeding out with a Basilisk fang embedded in his skin; You-Know-Who laughing as Ginny wrote one final message on the castle walls, this time using her own blood as it trailed down from her wrists …

The sounds of students in the corridor pulled her from her memories. The laughter and footsteps passed her classroom and didn’t stop, didn’t realise that Ginny was on the other side of that door. No one ever realised. No one knew where she was. No one cared.

She struggled to her feet and wiped away her tears. It wouldn’t help. Her eyes were red from all her crying, her face blotchy and tear-stained, her hair lank and knotted, and her robes ripped, threadbare, and covered in dust.

She wished she knew more magic so that she could fix her appearance with a snap of her fingers, and no one would know she had been crying. But she didn’t, so she rubbed her eyes, smoothed back her hair, and inhaled a steadying breath as she reached for the door handle.

The door swung open before her fingers could make contact.

She stumbled back, tripping over her feet, and landed on her backside with a jarring thud.

Someone swore and darted into the room. “I’m so sorry,” they said, hands grabbing hold of Ginny’s elbows and heaving her up.

She almost flinched. This was the first time someone had voluntarily touched her since the end of the holidays. She looked up, and her eyes froze on Kali Black. “I—I’m sorry.”

Kali shook her head, the loose strands escaping from her ponytail flying around her face. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t be opening doors like that.”

“No one’s supposed to be in here.” Daphne Greengrass stood in the doorway, narrowed eyes shifting from Ginny to the otherwise empty classroom.

Ginny ducked her head and stared at the scuffed tips of her shoes. Kali’s boots and Daphne’s Mary Jane’s stood between her and the door.

Panic rose in her chest and expanded like a balloon. No one had hurt her, not since last year, but Kali and Daphne were Slytherins. Kali was the daughter of a murderer and if the rumours were true, not a nice person.

Without raising her head, Ginny glanced to her left and right, but the only escape route was through the guarded door.

Her eyes caught on Kali’s shape-shifting pet. The dog was the size of a Sphinx, and sharp teeth jutted from its open mouth.

“He won’t hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kali said.

To prove her words, the Daemon transformed into a tiny spotted feline that was too cute to look threatening. The air caught in Ginny’s throat, and the Daemon changed again, this time into a rabbit, and then into a fennec fox, its ears twice the size of its head.

A tentative smile flitted onto Ginny’s face. She hadn’t smiled in months, tentative or otherwise. The stretch of unused muscles hurt, but she didn’t stop.

“Perhaps a peacock would be more appropriate,” Kali said when the Daemon changed into a wombat.

It glared at her and made a harsh rasping noise before turning into a peacock and flaunting its colourful tail.

From there, it turned into a harp seal and then, when Ginny’s eyes felt like they were about to pop from her head, settled for the form of a Friesian horse. Its shiny black coat gleamed in the candlelight, and its long mane fell in artful curls down its neck.

Ginny raised a hand but thought better of it a second later and took a step back. The Daemon huffed and lowered its big head to her palm.

“What’s your name?” Kali asked.

Ginny licked her dry lips. “Ginny. Ginny Weasley.”

Kali returned the courtesy and introduced herself as though everyone in this castle didn’t already know her name. “Kali Black.” She tilted her head toward the doorway. “That’s Daphne Greengrass, and the show-off is Pan.”

“He’s beautiful,” said Ginny.

Pan whinnied and tossed his head.

Kali laughed. The sound made Ginny jump and had her wondering if Kali had heard about what had happened last year. She mustn’t have. She wouldn’t be laughing otherwise. “You’ve just made a friend,” she said. “He likes you.”

Kali stroked her hand along Pan’s flank, and he moved his head to the side of Ginny’s face.

Ginny almost burst into tears all over again, but when his whiskers brushed against her skin, she giggled instead. “That tickles.”

She caught Kali looking her over, frowning at her tattered robes and unkempt appearance as well as her dull hair and reddened eyes. Ginny knew she wasn’t looking her best. She knew that she had the look of someone who wasn’t eating properly—because she wasn’t—with bones that poked against pale and clammy skin. She felt like an emaciated troll next to Kali, who was tall and lithe with clean, shiny hair.

“Kali?” said Daphne, tearing Kali’s attention away from Ginny. “We should go.”

Kali’s hand tightened around the strap of her bag, and she rolled her lip between her teeth.

She had changed out of her school robes. Her Muggle jeans had tears around the knees that looked only half done on purpose, and her shirt showed an inch of skin at her waist. Even Daphne’s robes seemed a size too small. Ginny glanced from them to Kali’s bulging satchel, from which an iron bowl stuck out.

“You don’t have to,” said Ginny. “I was just leaving. You can do—”

“Do what?” Daphne asked, a sharp edge sneaking into her quiet voice.

Kali raised a hand and smiled at her friend before turning back to Ginny. She rocked from her heels to her toes. “Why don’t you stay?” she said. “We could use another set of hands.”

“Kali.” Daphne pushed back her rounded shoulders and raised her chin, looking for the first time like pure-blood nobility. “A word?”

Throwing Ginny a smile, Kali bounded over to Daphne.

Her hands moved when she spoke, but Daphne’s stayed hidden within her sleeves. Daphne’s posture lost some of its rigidity with every new smile Kali gave her. Her eventual sigh blew through the room like a gust of wind, and she stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind her.

“What—” Ginny cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”

Kali grinned, her eyes shining brighter than the torches on the wall. “A summoning ritual.” Pan huffed, and she added, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Ginny glanced at the no longer guarded door and back to Kali, who kept smiling like an excited child. “What are you summoning?”

“Hobgoblins.” She set her bag on the floor and retied her hair. “One in particular. Hopefully.”

Daphne scuffed her feet against the flagstones. “There’s that word again.”

Kali lifted her eyebrows. “Hobgoblins?”

“ _Hopefully_.” Daphne’s gaze rose to Kali’s. “How sure are you that this will work?”

“Pretty sure. Summoning rituals are difficult. They require a bunch of ingredients, plus a special bond, a personal item, or a name. So long as the Hobgoblin I met at the Leaky Cauldron gave me his real name, this will work.”

“Hopefully.”

Kali grinned, and Daphne sighed, but her lips twitched into a smile under the force of Kali’s bouncing energy. It electrified the air around her like a thunderstorm, and Ginny’s blood sang for it, rushing through her faster than it had in months and making her fingers shake.

“Do you want to help?” Kali asked, turning to Ginny.

Clenching her hands, Ginny checked the door again. Her mother’s voice rang in her head with a list of reasons to leave this room, the first of which being that she’d caused enough trouble last year. Yet despite her mother’s irate tone, Ginny nodded and basked in Kali’s widening smile.

Kali dropped to her knees on the dusty floor and unpacked her bag. She set the iron bowl beside a dozen vials and jars, one of which sparkled and glowed.

“Are those fairy wings?” Daphne asked. Her lips curled at the state of the floor, but she sat down anyway and reached for the shiny jar. “Where did you get them?”

“Snape’s ingredient cupboard.”

Daphne yanked her hand away. “You stole from a professor?”

“Borrowed.” Kali pulled an old book from her bag and flipped it open. “I have fairy wings at home. I’ll replace what I took after the holidays.”

“Couldn’t we have waited until after the holidays to do this? To avoid you becoming a criminal?”

Kali shrugged and set the book between herself and Ginny. “Can you draw this pattern on the floor,” she asked, pointing at the picture on the page and handing Ginny a piece of chalk.

While Ginny drew, Kali and Daphne mixed the ingredients into the iron bowl. Daphne wouldn’t touch the fairy wings, and Kali wouldn’t meet Daphne’s accusing gaze. She hummed as she worked. It sounded like a lullaby, not one Ginny recognised, but it was a pretty tune. Ginny hesitated to interrupt it.

“Will a summoning work in Hogwarts?” she asked when the weight of Daphne’s disapproval became too much. “You can’t Apparate onto the grounds because of the protection charms around the castle, so …”

“It’s a different kind of magic,” said Kali. “Linked, but different. It wouldn’t work if we were summoning a person because the Anti-Apparition Charm and all of Hogwarts’ other defences are designed to affect humans. That’s why the house-elves can still Apparate inside the castle.”

She added the fairy wings to the bowl and finally looked back at Daphne. With the evidence of Kali’s misdeed gone, Daphne pursed her lips and rolled her eyes but also shifted so that she no longer leaned away from the situation.

Ginny watched them move together, and her chest ached.

Wiping her hands on her trousers, Kali rose and pulled Daphne and Ginny to their feet. She drew a pack of matches from her pocket and looked at Daphne. “What do you think?”

“I have some concerns.”

Kali laughed, nudged Daphne with her elbow, and lit a match. She threw it into the bowl, and the ingredients caught fire, puffing a sweet-smelling smoke. Ginny’s drawing burned bright yellow and then black, the chalk turning to soot.

Nothing else happened.

Ginny looked around the classroom, Daphne fidgeted with her sleeves, and Kali rocked forwards.

“Maybe the fairy wings were out of date,” said Daphne.

The fire jumped and the soot drawing flared. Ginny stumbled back. Kali caught her before she could fall, keeping a firm hold on her arm and Daphne’s. A Hobgoblin stood in front of them. The top of its head reached Ginny’s knee, but its tummy was twice as wide as hers.

Kali’s grip on Ginny’s arm eased. “Hello, Hob.”

Hob’s black eyes narrowed and his lip curled. “You.”

“I want to apologise.” She took a step forward and nudged Ginny and Daphne back before releasing them. “We left things on a misunderstanding last time.”

“Your familiar attacked one of our young.” His voice rasped like rocks and grated Ginny’s ears.

Pan stood quietly in a corner, his dark coat blending with the shadows.

Kali smiled, but it stalled halfway to her cheeks. “Like I said. It was a misunderstanding. He didn’t mean to frighten or hurt anyone.” She crouched by her bag and took out a carton box that smelled of roast ham. “I have a gift.”

She set the box on the floor and pushed it toward Hob, keeping out of reach of his claws.

His hackles rose, short hairs spiking into a fanned mohawk, which ran from the top of his head and disappeared beneath his coat. “A bribe.”

Daphne shifted, and Ginny steeled the muscles in her legs to stop herself from taking a step back. Kali remained crouched at the Hobgoblin’s level and raised her hands. “No,” she said. “Not a bribe. I was in the wrong, and I owe you a recompense.”

Hob paced to the left and to the right, his leathery face twisted into a scowl, his gaze going from Kali to the box. Ginny’s heart battered against her ribcage. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and raised a hand to rub her chest. Hob’s eyes snapped to her, and she froze.

Chasms widened into black holes, and he jumped back. His snout twitched, and his yellow fangs rasped against each other. “What is that?” he asked, his clenched jaw turning the words into a rockfall.

Kali glanced over her shoulder. “What is what?”

“That thing,” Hob spat. “That stain dressed as a human child.”

Dread lunged from Ginny’s stomach to her throat. She stumbled back a step, choking for air that wouldn’t reach her lungs. Kali stood and wrapped a hand around Ginny’s wrist, her thumb drawing circles over Ginny’s skin. She didn’t turn away from Hob.

“That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”

“Not a nice thing to say.” Hob scoffed. The tendons stood out in his neck, and his hands trembled. “Can you not see what’s been inside her?”

“It isn’t there any more.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped to the back of Kali’s head.

“Dirty,” Hob muttered. He started pacing again, his dark gaze fixed on Ginny, his ears shaking hard enough to turn the tinkling of his earrings into a harsh buzzing sound. “Dirty and dark, and that’s the company you greet me with?”

“That’s enough,” said Kali.

Hob’s eyes blazed at the ice in her tone.

Fabric brushed against Ginny’s arm. She startled, but it was only Daphne, inching closer, her wand drawn. Ginny reached for her own wand, but her numb fingers fumbled, and it clattered to the floor. Hob’s hissing turned into a growl, and he lunged.

Kali ducked, and Daphne shot a spell that covered the floor in front of Hob with a thin layer of ice. She pushed Ginny to the side as he slipped, arms windmilling and long toenails scrabbling for a firm footing.

“I don’t want to fight,” said Kali. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk,” Hob snarled. He dropped to all fours, claws breaking through the ice to keep himself still. “Is that why you’re taking the care to apologise? Are you hoping that forgiveness will earn you the truth about your father?”

Kali swallowed. Ginny heard it over the drumming of her heart.

“The truth could help a lot of people, not just me,” said Kali.

“No, no, no.” His mouth twisted into a smile that bared all of his teeth. “Misbehaviour is not recompensed, and good actions done in the hope of a reward count for nothing at all. If you want your father’s truth, you must find it yourself. I won’t help you, and I will not forgive you.”

The muscles in his legs strained against his dirty trousers, and he pounced.

Ginny screamed. Daphne whipped her wand around to aim at Hob but stumbled over Kali’s bag and fell to her knees. Kali dodged out of Hob’s way, and Pan cantered into the fray. He reared, but Hob swiped at him with claws the length of Ginny’s fingers. Pan’s hooves hit the ground and rattled the iron bowl.

An old de-gnoming memory rattled with it.

Ginny ran for the bowl.

She ignored the smouldering ingredients and the sting of hot metal against her palm and threw the dish at Hob’s face. His howl drowned out the clatter as the bowl hit the ground, ashes and embers scattering over the floor. A burn spread over his cheek, skin reddening and blisters bubbling.

From her crouched position, Kali kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling over the broken ice and back into Ginny’s drawing. She grabbed a vial, dumped its powdery content on her palm, and blew it in Hob’s direction.

Daphne scrambled over to her on all fours and brought her wand down like an executioner’s axe. “ _Finite Incantatem!”_

The pattern flared again, and Hob disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Heavy breaths filled the room.

“That could have gone better,” said Kali.

Daphne laughed, the sound broken by her panting and her wide-eyed panic, which slowly faded from her face. Kali joined her with a shaky smile and pulled her to her feet. She picked up the bowl while she was at it and waved it at Ginny. “Good aim.”

“What just happened?” Daphne asked.

“Fairy lore,” Kali said. “The entire genome hates iron. Brownies, Pixies, Gnomes, Leprechauns … even Goblins won’t touch the stuff for more than a few seconds.” She tapped her fingers against the bowl and smiled at Ginny. “Clever.”

Legs shaking, Ginny lowered herself onto the floor before they gave out. Her smile trembled, but it didn’t hurt.

“How did you know to do that?” asked Daphne, she and Kali sitting cross-legged in front of Ginny.

“My mum chucked out an iron cauldron a few years ago. I dragged it outside for her, and she asked me to de-gnome the garden while I was out there. I still had flakes of rust on my hands when I caught the first one. It screamed and bit me.” She showed them the crescent scar beneath her thumb. “I threw it, and it landed in the cauldron.”

Kali flinched. “Did it survive?”

“Mum took it to St Mungo’s.” Ginny had insisted upon it. “It’s the only Gnome that’s allowed in the garden now.”

Chin raised and brow creased, Daphne asked, “You have to de-gnome your own garden?”

Heat spread to Ginny’s cheeks.

Kali elbowed Daphne as she shifted forward and took Ginny’s hand in hers. She traced the healed bite mark and turned Ginny’s hand so that it was palm up. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?” she asked, examining the blotchy skin that had touched the hot bowl.

“I’m fine.”

Kali’s eyes went to Ginny’s hair and trailed down to her chewed fingernails. “Have you had dinner?”

Ginny shook her head.

“We’re heading that way now if you’d like to join us?”

Daphne frowned. “But we’ve already—”

Kali’s hand on her knee silenced her.

Ginny wanted to refuse. She didn’t want pity or hand-outs, but no one had been this nice to her in months. She nodded, and Kali grinned, and Ginny didn’t feel so bad any more. When Kali helped Ginny up, one of her rings caught in a hole in Ginny’s sleeve.

“What happened to your robes?” she asked, disentangling herself from them.

“My roommate’s cat got stuck in our dorm the other day. I’d left my trunk open, and he shredded most of my clothes.”

Kali stopped halfway to the door. “Your roommate hasn’t offered to replace your stuff?”

Ginny shrugged and didn’t answer. Of course, Jenna had done no such thing. When she had seen what her cat had done, she said that Ginny had only herself to blame and that it served her right.

Kali huffed and grabbed Ginny’s hand. She dragged Ginny through the door and down a spiral staircase that landed them in the dungeons.

“Stay here a sec. I’ll be right back,” she said.

She and Daphne darted through a door that hadn’t been there a second ago and that disappeared as soon as they were out of sight.

Pan had turned into a cat and wove between Ginny’s legs. Before she could start worrying about being alone in the dungeons in front of the Slytherin common room, Kali returned with a heap of fabric in her hands.

“Where’s Daphne?” Ginny asked.

“There’s been too much excitement for her for one day. She went to bed. Here.” She piled several sets of robes into Ginny’s arms. “I’ve shot up about four inches since I bought these, but they should fit you.”

Mouth open and eyes wide, Ginny looked from Kali to the robes and then back again. “I can’t take these.”

“Why not?”

Because they were nicer than anything she had ever owned. The fabric was thick and soft and surprisingly light. They looked like they’d been fitted for Kali, and they were probably more expensive than Ginny was comfortable knowing.

“I can’t wear them any more,” said Kali, “and I don’t know anyone else who needs robes. If you don’t take them, they’re just going to take up space in my trunk.”

Ginny’s mouth opened on another protest, but Kali herded her into a bathroom, pushing her toward one of the stalls, and Ginny gave in. She changed into the robes and stepped back into the bathroom, enjoying how nice the fabric felt against her skin. They weren’t at all scratchy like her old robes were.

“They’re a bit long,” said Kali. She drew her wand and muttered a spell. The bottom of the robes turned in on itself, shortening by a couple of inches. “That’s better. What do you think?”

Ginny stared at Kali’s smiling face, and her eyes started to sting. She pressed her lips together hard, but the tears slipped free regardless.

Kali’s eyes went wide. “What’s wrong?”

Ginny couldn’t say anything through the sobs, so she waved her arms around instead, babbling incoherently as she gasped for breath.

Kali gave up on trying to understand her and pulled her into a hug. Ginny sobbed harder, sinking into the first comforting human touch she’d received since leaving home. She cried for a long time, and Kali let her. When finally Ginny calmed down enough to pull away, she tried to ignore Kali’s worried gaze by rubbing her eyes.

When she lowered her hands, she found Kali bending down to pick up a piece of parchment from the floor. It took Ginny a moment to recognise it. She sprang forward, but it was too late. Kali had read the note, reaching the end as Ginny snatched it from her hands.

“Who gave you that?” Kali asked. Her voice was calm, but her usually clear grey eyes looked an awful lot like two angry storm clouds.

Ginny shrugged, stuffing the note into her pocket and looking anywhere but at Kali.

Kali took a step toward her and, with a finger under Ginny’s chin, lifted Ginny’s gaze to hers. “Ginny?”

“I don’t know. I found it in one of my textbooks.”

“Have you told anyone about it?” Ginny shook her head, and Kali sighed and stepped away from her. “You need to tell your Head of House.”

“I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’m sure Professor McGonagall has better things to worry about.”

“She doesn’t. This is bullying. It’s wrong, and it won’t go away if you do nothing.” Frowning down at her shoes, Kali swiped her tongue over her lip and added, “Hiding from it doesn’t help. Making yourself smaller to diminish the target on your back doesn’t bother the people aiming at you. It only erases you.”

Kali blinked hard, and Ginny took a moment to rearrange her thoughts on some of the interactions she had witnessed between Kali and other Slytherins. The cruel smiles and rigid posture shone in the new light of a role-reversal.

With a steeled jaw and burning eyes, Kali levelled Ginny with a stare that had her wanting to fidget. “Tell me you don’t want to be erased.”

She didn’t. Not now. Not any more. Not in the face of Kali’s anger-coated resolve. But she didn’t want to make a scene either.

“I don’t want …” She pushed the hair from her eyes and stood straighter. “I don’t want the teachers to know about it.”

She had caused enough trouble last year, and she didn’t need to be called a snitch as well as a dark witch. It was enough to know that someone cared enough to get angry on her behalf, even if that person was a stranger.

Unblinking, Kali worried her bottom lip. Ginny’s shoulder shook, but she didn’t look away until Kali did. With a steeled jaw, Kali nodded and cast the robe shortening spell on the other two sets.

“Come over here,” she said, pulling Ginny in front of the mirror. She took a paper towel and ran it under the tap. “Cold water helps bring down the redness.”

She handed the damp cloth to Ginny and guided her hand to her blotchy face, letting her wash away the dust and dried tears. Kali brushed a strand of red hair behind Ginny's ear, took her wand out again and tapped the tip against the top of Ginny's head twice. Ginny's scalp tingled, and some of the life returned to her hair.

“Not as efficient as a shower, but it will do,” said Kali, observing her work. “Feeling better?”

Ginny nodded. She wasn't sure what else to do or what she could say to express the extent of her gratitude, but the basics seemed like a good place to start. “Thank you, and I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“That Hobgoblin wouldn’t help you because of me.”

Leaning back against the row of sinks, Kali shook her head. “He wouldn’t have helped me regardless. He was right about my ulterior motive.” She tilted her head to the side, and her clouded eyes cleared. “But he was wrong about you.”

Ginny stared down at the cracked tiles.

“I can’t imagine what you went through,” Kali said, “and how strong you must be to have survived it.”

Ginny’s throat tightened. “I’m not strong. If it weren’t for me, none of that would have happened.”

“I don’t believe that. I think it would have happened, one way or another, eventually. If not to you, then to someone else, someone who wouldn’t have made it to where you are now.”

“I haven’t done anything,” she said, swallowing hard past the knot in her airway.

Kali knocked her shoulder against Ginny’s. “You’ve got out of bed every day since. You’ve endured people’s hate and distrust. You haven’t given up yet. That’s something, and it’s something that makes you very strong and very brave.”

Ginny’s cheeks burned, but she let herself believe the compliment because Kali’s voice was warm and sincere and trustworthy, and Ginny wanted to be better—needed to be better—than she thought she was. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and the tight band that had been compressing her chest vanished.

“Come on. I’m starving,” said Kali. She held out her hand and pulled Ginny toward the door.

In the Great Hall, Kali sat at the Gryffindor table as though she belonged there. People stared. Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because of her or because of the Slytherin in their midst, but either way, Kali ignored them and served Ginny a generous portion of lasagne. Ginny gorged herself on food, and Kali supplied most of the conversation, acting as a shield between Ginny and the world.

*******

The next morning, Ginny sat by the lake, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains. It streaked the sky with greys and pinks that reflected off the lake’s surface and bathed Hogwarts in a soft light.

Ginny wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and wiggled her cold backside against the frozen ground, but she didn't leave. She couldn’t remember the last time she had watched a sunrise.

The fresh air felt as good as last night’s meal had, like a healing balm spread over a burn, but a rooster’s cry interrupted her tranquillity.

Her stomach lurched, and her head snapped toward the sound, dark memories returning with a vengeance. Her gaze landed on Hagrid’s hut. It sat in the distance, as shabby and unassuming as ever, a line of smoke trailing from the crooked chimney and flickering candlelight shining from the windows.

The rooster crowed once more, and Ginny’s heart battered against her chest. She wanted to go back to bed and bury herself beneath the covers, but she had promised herself that she would stop doing that, so instead, she got to her feet.

Her knees wobbled beneath her, but she forced one foot in front of the other, up the rocky bank and over the frost-covered grass until she stood in front of Hagrid’s front door.

She stared and stared, unable to take those last few steps. White noise screeched in her ears, and her heart smashed against her ribcage in an unsteady drumbeat. Her shoes must have turned to lead because no matter how hard she tried to lift her feet, she could not. Her stomach rolled, and a ball of panic lodged itself in her throat. Her breathing came out in sharp, fast puffs that brought her little air.

The world went dark around the edges, but before it could disappear entirely, several booming barks and something scrabbling on the other side of the door had Ginny stumbling backwards. The white noise faded, and Ginny’s mind cleared enough for her to wonder if she ought to run away.

“Back, Fang—back.” Hagrid’s voice rang out.

A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Hagrid’s massive form, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

Ginny felt like shrinking away, but she stood her ground even though she shook like a leaf.

Hagrid’s bushy eyebrows scrunched together when he spotted her. “Yer Ron Weasley’s sister, aren’t yeh?”

Ginny nodded, still shivering as if from a bad cold.

“What’s the matter?” Hagrid asked.

“I—I’m sorry.” A sob carried the words from her mouth, and her eyes stung with fresh tears.

“Hey, now,” said Hagrid in a voice far gentler than someone his size should have been capable of. “What’re yeh sorry for?”

“Last year.” She hiccoughed. “I’m sorry I killed your roosters and that you got sent to Azkaban because of me.”

“Gallopin’ Gorgon,” said Hagrid. He hunkered down. Even kneeling, he was taller than her. The boarhound continued to wiggle in his arms, but he kept a firm hold on it. “That wasn’t yer fault. Yeh hear me?”

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop more sobs from escaping, which only made them tear through her harder.

“I don’ blame yeh for what happened, and neither does Ron or Hermione or Harry or any o’ the others, so don’ go blamin’ yerself.”

Ginny sniffled and peeked through the curtain of her hair to see Hagrid smiling at her. The expression lit up his dark eyes and deepened his crows’ feet.

“Why don’ yeh come in for a cup o’ tea?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Ginny nodded. She followed Hagrid into his house and was introduced to Fang while Hagrid put the kettle on. The tea wasn’t very good, and she almost broke a tooth on the scone he gave her, but she couldn’t remember being this weightless in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve been keeping safe and that you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I can’t decide if the section about Ginny’s summer holidays and her reaction to the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express is necessary or not. On the one hand, it feels like exposition; on the other, it builds up her misery. What do you think?


	12. Grim Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Ginny Weasley had been having a hard time adapting to Hogwarts after what happened the previous year. Plagued by bullies and bad memories, she couldn’t see the magic Hogwarts had to offer, but making a couple of friends helped give her a new perspective. Kali Black’s attempt to learn the Hobgoblins’ secret about her father didn’t go to plan and only served to anger them further.

Kali passed Jenna Moore and the girl’s friends on the platform outside Hogsmeade. The group of second-years caught sight of Kali and scurried away in the opposite direction, jumping on the train and disappearing from view.

Pan hissed and bared his sharp little ferret teeth in their direction. _“That’s right. You’d better run.”_

It hadn’t taken much effort to find out who had sent that nasty note to Ginny Weasley since Pan had managed to sniff the parchment before Ginny had snatched it back.

With the culprits’ scents in mind, he had wandered the castle looking for a match and had found it in Jenna and her clique. The term ‘unpleasant’ didn’t do her justice, but with the advantages of height, age, and Pan prowling around her as a tiger, Kali had imparted some choice words on the girl. She had since noted a vast improvement in Ginny’s mood.

Blaise hopped onto the train and gave Daphne and Kali a gallant hand up. Daphne accepted the gesture with a blush and a mumbled word of thanks, and Kali rolled her eyes at Blaise’s ridiculous smirk.

It felt odd to be leaving. For the past three months, Kali’s world had been restricted to Hogwarts. Most days, it felt as though there was nothing beyond the castle’s walls. It had a way of pulling you in and cocooning you from the rest of the universe in a manner that felt both safe and suffocating. When Kali stepped onto the train, a weight lifted from her chest, one she hadn’t realised had been there until it was gone.

Blaise didn't share Kali's relief. His mother had insisted that he meet his newest stepfather. If not for that, he might have stayed at Hogwarts.

From the little he had been willing to discuss his family, Kali knew this: his mother was extraordinarily beautiful and very vain; his father had been her first husband whom she had married when she was very young; he had died shortly after Blaise was born; his mother was now on her seventh husband and had been widowed no less than six times; Blaise hadn’t bothered to learn his stepfathers’ names after the third one.

He grew gloomier and gloomier the further the train travelled. By the time they arrived at King’s Cross, he looked downright mutinous, scowling at the gathered crowd on the platform and slumping in his seat, his arms folded over his chest.

Daphne cast glances his way as she took her case from the luggage rack, but when Astoria popped into their compartment to collect her, she left with a small wave and a quiet goodbye. Blaise didn't move.

Kali sat with him in silence for a minute before nudging his knee with her foot. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course I am,” he said, though his expression didn’t change.

“In four years you’ll never have to speak to her again.”

That drew his attention. He turned to her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, fingers tapping against his biceps with the bored exasperation of someone waiting for a table at a crowded restaurant. “I will if I want my inheritance.”

“You’re not one of _those_ people, are you?” She smiled and nudged his knee again. “Tell me you’re smart enough to get by without her money.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, “but that would require work, and a face as pretty as mine was not meant for such things.”

Kali snorted a laugh. She shook her head and gestured out the window at the seething throng of people waiting on the platform. “Do what your mother does then. Marry rich.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” His lips pulled up into a familiar smirk. “You’re quite wealthy, are you not?”

“Not happening.”

He looked her over with the same cold appraisal as the last time they had been on this train together. “I imagine my mother would hate you.”

“You’re really selling it to me,” Kali said as she stood and stretched. “Come on. You can’t put it off forever.”

He sighed and got to his feet. “Will you mourn for me when I die of boredom within the coming week?”

“I may even shed a tear at your funeral.”

“How kind of you.” With a wave, he followed her from the compartment into the crowded corridor. Students elbowed past, and Kali and Blaise followed the current, his hand wrapped around the strap of her bag so that they didn't lose each other.

“Well, we are friends,” she said, raising her voice over the noise and dodging a boy whose backpack was wider than he was.

They stepped from the train, and Blaise pulled her to the side so that they didn't get dragged into the waiting maw of family reunions.

“Friends, she says”—he poked her chest, pushing her against the train—“as though she doesn't exclude me from all of her adventures.”

“What adventures?

“Don't play dumb with me, Black.” He folded his arms over his chest and tried to raise his chin high enough to look down his nose at her the way Pansy always did. “It isn't a good look on you.”

“Sorry.” She smiled. “It's just that adventures tend to include a bit of dirt.”

“I'd noticed. Poor Daphne looked filthy last week after you dragged her off to who-knows-where." He rolled the tip of his tongue over his teeth and stared her down. “Why are you chasing Hobgoblins, Kali?”

She knocked the back of her head against the train and winced at the hard thud. The incident with Hob played on her mind every time she stopped forcing herself to forget about it. A list of things she could have done better accompanied the memories in an ever-growing loop of regret.

“I met a group of them at the Leaky Cauldron in August. They know something about my father.”

Blaise schooled his expression with such care that he might as well have looked surprised. “Of all the rumours about you, don't tell me that's the one that's true. Did you move to the UK to keep him from going back to Azkaban?”

Pushing away from the Hogwarts Express, she folded her arms over her chest. “Why else would I be here?”

“I wouldn't know,” he said. “You never talk about him.”

“There's not much to talk about.”

His exhale carried a laugh, but the mirth didn't show in his eyes. “He was convicted of thirteen murders. That's something worth mentioning. You're always so pro-Muggle, so you must think that he didn't do it. But then how do you explain him breaking into Hogwarts on Halloween?”

“I don't know. I don't think—” She bit off the words and sucked in her lips. “The Hobgoblins said that they have information about him.”

“So you summoned one into Hogwarts? You know what they say about curiosity and cats.”

She unfolded her arms and forced her posture away from defensiveness. “Yes. Do you know what they say about satisfaction and bringing them back?”

His eyes smiled. “Be careful, would you? You're one of the few tolerable people at school and being your friend has ruined my prospects among the rest of our housemates. I would hate for you to die and drag my social life into your coffin.”

“A self-centred take, but I'll allow it. It was almost sweet.”

“I am known for my charm.” He grinned and glanced over his shoulder at the dispersing crowd. “One other thing, try to remember that not everyone is built like you. Daphne couldn't stop shaking after you ran off with the Weasley girl.”

Kali’s gaze snapped to his. “She didn't tell me that.”

“I imagine she doesn't want you leaving her behind.” His attention went back to the crowd, and he sighed. “I'd best be off. Remember your promise to shed a tear for me.”

Kali nodded and smiled at his wave, but her mind spun through Yule gifts she could offer Daphne to make up for past behaviour.

Remus and Gran waited for her next to the gate.

For the past few months, Gran had been working on getting Sirius a fair trial despite the Minister's best efforts to be uncooperative. After the Halloween break-in, she suffered a setback—not that she acknowledged it. Standing tall on the platform, she didn't look like someone wading through lengthy bureaucratic procedures.

Kali hung in there, but her stomach lurched when they landed with a loud crack. The asphalt swayed beneath her feet, and the large wrought iron gates blurred until she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe in deep and even breaths.

The gates creaked, and Kali opened her eyes as Gran sheathed her wand. With their cases floating beside them, they stepped onto the cobbled path that led to the house.

From here, only the dark slate tiles of the pointed rooftops peered above the treeline. In spring, summer, and autumn, when the deciduous trees added their foliage to the valley, even the roof vanished from sight.

Overhead, grey clouds loomed, and the cold added a crispness to the already sharp smell of conifer trees. Kali buried the bottom half of her face in her scarf and slipped her gloved hands into her coat pockets as she and her family followed the winding path.,

With one final twist, the quarter-mile lane opened onto the front yard with its empty flower beds and frozen pond. Beyond it stood the house.

Kali had compared it to Frankenstein's monster once, a creature created by stitching together different body parts from several corpses to build a single being. The comment had prompted Gran to question Kali's choice in literature, but Remus had assured her that the book was a classic.

Gran had called the juxtaposition macabre; Kali called it realistic.

The house had been torn down and rebuilt a number of times over the centuries, each new generation adding its own touches from Victorian architecture with neo-Gothic accents to French styling with Art Nouveau features. It all combined to give the building a grand yet unorthodox look that wavered between beauty and horror.

Gran loved it. Most other people preferred to admire it from a distance, including Grandpa Lyall, who sat on the bench by the front door.

Lyall Lupin looked like Remus would in thirty years. They shared the same height, lean build, and strong nose. More wrinkles and fewer scars lined Grandpa Lyall’s face, and his hair had long since turned grey, but beneath the darkening sky and dim coach lights, it was hard to tell.

He rose from his seat, lips spreading in a soft smile, and Kali forgot all about the cold and her upset stomach. She ran to meet him, and he caught her in a hug.

“You’re growing like a weed,” he said to her as Remus and Gran joined them. “Keep it up, and you’ll be as tall as your grandmother before long.”

“You’re early,” said Gran. She waved her hand over the doorknob, and it clicked open. “You should have gone in. It’s too cold out here to be sitting around.”

“Good to see you too, Freyja.” Grandpa Lyall smiled at Gran and shook hands with his son. “I was enjoying the fresh air.”

It could have been stormy and pouring it down, and still, Grandpa Lyall would not have entered the house unless someone was there to invite him in, kind of like vampires in Muggle fiction. Remus used to do the same thing before Mum told him to stop being silly, which was not the word she had used, but Kali wasn’t allowed to resort to that kind of language in front of Grandpa Lyall.

Remus ushered everyone into the house and out of reach of the biting wind.

Coats and shoes were discarded in the entrance hall closet, which was otherwise bare save for a pile of wooden hangers. A staircase to the left led to the upstairs bedrooms, but Kali and Pan raced straight ahead, giving the round foyer table a wide berth to avoid knocking over the elaborate flower arrangement.

Kali’s stockinged feet slid over the hardwood floor, and she skidded into the kitchen.

The French doors leading into the dining room were wide open. The table was set, and no less than four large bouquets covered its surface, each an assortment of different flowers so that Gran could pick a favourite for her Yuletide party.

Kali headed straight for the refrigerator, but Remus stopped her before she got to it.

“Wash your hands first,” he said, grabbing two aprons, which hung from a hook next to the old wood-burning cooker. A fire crackled within it and heated the room better than any spell could.

Kali washed her hands, and Remus slipped the smaller apron over her head.

Gran poured everyone a drink—wine for the adults and juice for Kali—and she and Grandpa Lyall sat on the stools at the island counter while Remus and Kali made dinner.

Remus hovered over Kali as she sliced vegetables, keeping a calculating eye on the distance between the blade and her fingers, ready to swoop in at a moments’ notice. She had cut herself once, years ago, and he had yet to get over it.

The evening ambled on from the kitchen to the dining room and, eventually, to the sitting room, where the adults indulged in the contents of the pretty crystal decanters that sat atop and within the sandalwood sideboard.

Kali and Pan dozed in front of the fire, lulled by the adults’ soft voices.

*******

Six days later, snow fell without and music swelled within.

Ministry workers and foreign dignitaries mingled and networked under the guise of a party, and Kali wove between them searching for someone her age. She had spotted one of the Hufflepuffs from her year a while ago, Susan Bones, whose aunt was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, but had since lost her in the crowd.

Kali stopped in front of a barrier of elderly gentlemen with long beards who blocked the archway into the living room. They stood, deep in conversation, mumbling through their impressive moustaches, not paying an ounce of attention to anything or anyone around them, not even Kali’s hovering and throat clearing.

With a sigh and sagging shoulders, Kali gave up her search and headed to the kitchen, one of the least crowded rooms that guests could access. Gran had cast the No-Entry Charm over every room in the house except the sitting rooms, dining room, conservatory, and kitchen to avoid any snooping. It didn’t affect Kali. She could easily hide out in her bedroom, but Remus might take offence at being abandoned.

A handful of people dotted the kitchen, and many more crowded the dining room.

How Gran had thought that the house could fit another hundred-odd guests, Kali didn't know. The estate was big, but only when you didn’t cordon off 90% of it, yet Gran had invited many more people than the ones here now. Those who had not shown up—high-ranking pure-bloods mainly—were at Malfoy Manor where another Yule Ball was being held. According to Daphne’s letters, many high-society pure-bloods were less than happy with Freyja Morrigan for subverting the event of the year, but Gran counted this as a win. After all, the Minister for Magic—useless as he was—as well as every Head of department were here and not at the Malfoys. That sent a clear message to anyone paying attention.

There were, however, a few people who looked as though they would have prefered joining the Malfoys this evening. One woman, in particular, seemed exceptionally grouchy. She hid it well behind an overly-sweet smile, but her pouchy eyes were cold and disdainful, and she had yet to move away from the drinks table.

With nothing better to do, Kali walked up to her.

“Hello,” she said with a polite smile. “I like your robes.” The pink outfit was better suited to someone half the woman’s age, but it wouldn’t do to say so aloud.

The woman turned her bulging eyes on Kali, and although no warmth seeped into her smile, it did start to reach her eyes. “Thank you, young lady.” She fluffed her coiffed curls and readjusted her black velvet bow that was too darkly coloured for her mousy hair. “They’re imported. The French have such a way with fabric.”

Based on Gran’s description, this was Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. Kali stopped her smile from widening at the whiffs of champagne on the bureaucrat’s breath.

Madam Umbridge didn’t bother asking for Kali’s name; instead, she spoke about herself at length. Kali listened, taking every piece of personal information with a pinch of salt and directing the conversation in a specific ‘Sirius Black’ related direction.

She got sidetracked from her mission when Umbridge spotted Headmaster Dumbledore through the dining room door.

“I can’t believe the sort of people who have been invited to this party,” said Umbridge, her broad features twisting into a sneer.

The comment gave Kali pause. As far as she knew, the headmaster and the Minister for Magic were on good terms. It was said that Cornelius Fudge often went to Albus Dumbledore for advice on matters that were beyond him and that Dumbledore, with all his titles and high-powered positions, did more in terms of running the UK’s magical community than Fudge did.

“He’s going senile, you know?” Umbridge said in a harsh whisper designed to be heard by all. “Just last month, he turned down Minister Fudge’s great efforts to keep the students of Hogwarts safe. With that despicable man, Sirius Black, on the loose, Cornelius went out of his way to place Azkaban guards in the school, but the headmaster refused to let them enter. And of course, what was bound to happen happened. Black broke into Hogwarts—but you know this; you were there. My, it must have been frightening.”

Umbridge was not the type of person who required active participation from those she spoke to, so Kali gave a half-nod, which Umbridge barely noticed.

“Black could have been captured then and there if it weren’t for Dumbledore. Cornelius was furious, but I’ve told him before: Hogwarts headmasters—and Dumbledore in particular—are given far too much freedom and power. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

Kali glanced from the headmaster’s receding figure down to Umbridge. “Hogwarts isn’t run by the Ministry?”

“No, dear. It should be. It is a state-owned and state-funded institution, after all. But over time, more and more power has been given to the Heads of Hogwarts. The Board of Governors still has some sway, but clearly not enough. From student safety to hiring new teachers, everything is decided by the headmaster.”

Umbridge kept talking, but Kali stopped listening.

Dumbledore, a strong advocate for the side of justice and equality, had hired Snape, a bully and an ex-Death Eater.

Kali had started to assume that the reason Snape taught at Hogwarts was as a kind of community service punishment imposed by the Ministry, which would have explained why he had yet to quit and find a job he could enjoy.

Dumbledore’s involvement changed things. It lent credence to Kali’s theory that something was keeping Snape at the school but brought her back to square one in terms of figuring out what that ‘something’ was.

While Umbridge rabbited on, Kali stared at the spot where Dumbledore had last stood as though the ghost of his presence could conjure up the answers she desired.

*******

The party started to wind down after midnight, and Kali took the opportunity to slip away.

All the Ministry workers and important people were now too drunk to be interesting. They slurred their words and could no longer form coherent sentences, so Kali left through the narrow, often over-looked door that stood in the darkest corner of the kitchen, and she ventured down the spiral staircase to the wine cellar, which was larger than her Hogwarts dorm.

At one of the old torch sconces that was no longer used for lighting, she laid her palm against the stone wall, and the granite heated beneath her fingers. A soft creak echoed through the cellar, and a wall between two bottle-filled alcoves folded in on itself until nothing remained but a dark archway.

The shrill wail of a draught blew through the opening, bringing with it a chill that had goosebumps springing up along Kali’s skin, making her wish for thicker tights and a warmer dress as she stepped towards the pitch-blackness.

The second her feet passed over the threshold, the torches lining the walls burst to life, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows down the narrow stairwell.

This was the house’s cut-off point—where Muggle appliances stopped working, and magic took over.

Kali's skin tingled at the raw energy around her. It chased away the cold as she ventured further and further underground; the smell of damp earth getting stronger with every stride.

The stone steps levelled out onto a short corridor that ended with a heavy door. Runes decorated the wooden surface, some faded by time, others still standing strong. Kali didn’t know what any of them meant—neither did Gran nor Remus—but they had always been there, protecting the treasures within and keeping any uninvited guests out.

Kali knocked twice.

It took a moment, but the locking mechanism eventually groaned, and the hinges grumbled as the door swung open, revealing a hall of wonders.

A cave only slightly smaller than the Chamber of Secrets lay before Kali, its domed ceiling so high that the torch flames couldn’t hope to touch it. The stone walls had been ground, sanded, and polished until they were soft and smooth and created a flat-bottomed sphere. Narrow steps jutted from the rounded façade, circling the cavern and climbing higher and higher until they disappeared, swallowed by darkness.

Small alcoves followed the steps up, each containing an artefact: objects of interest collected throughout the centuries. Some were mundane, but others were odd enough or dark enough to make Kali question her ancestors’ morality. A layer of shimmering glass flowed and ebbed like water at the mouth of each alcove, the last line of defence should, by some stroke of luck, a thief manage to get this far.

Everything in this room brimmed with magic like electricity against Kali’s skin.

It wasn’t the same kind of magic as that which ran through Hogwarts’ veins. Hogwarts’ magic could be compared to the rush a child felt when in a bouncy castle: fun and exhilarating and mostly harmless. The magic in this place was still and quiet. It commanded silence and reflection. Something ominous and almost foreboding clung to the air, demanding fearful respect from all who entered.

A maze of reading tables and workbenches covered the flagstone floor, and Kali wove her way around them, heading to the back of the room where cases of books too dangerous to be left in the main library lined the walls.

A pitch-black hole marred the otherwise uninterrupted row of books—an archway leading to more chambers, smaller than this one but no less unwelcoming. Many of them Kali had yet to step into, some because the tunnels had caved in and hadn’t been repaired; others because Gran forbade her entry. Kali wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the latter lot contained.

“We can’t both hide down here,” said a voice behind her.

Kali spun so quickly that she tripped over her feet and stumbled into one of the workbenches. Her hands slammed against the solid surface hard enough to send a jolt of pain through the bones in her forearms.

A man sat in a nearby armchair, the oil lamp by his elbow throwing light and shadows over his face.

The chances of a stranger gaining entrance to this room were slim, but this was the kind of place that made a person believe in demons. No malevolent spirit sat in the armchair, though, only Grandpa Lyall.

A book lay open in his lap, and his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. A thin layer of dust powdered his hair and dress robes as though he had been down here for years rather than hours.

Kali breathed a silent sigh at the familiar face and said, “Gran’s busy enthralling half of the Wizengamot. She won’t notice we’re gone.”

“And Remus?”

“He wouldn’t rat us out,” she said, sitting in the armchair opposite Grandpa Lyall’s, “although he may grumble a bit at being abandoned.”

He chuckled and slipped a bookmark between the pages of his book before closing it. “I’d have thought that you’d go to bed rather than come down here. Remus tells me you want everyone up early tomorrow.”

“If I wake Gran up before seven she’ll complain worse than Remus.”

“I’ll expect to hear you and Pan thundering down the halls at seven on the dot, then?” he asked with a smile that smoothed his frown lines and deepened his crows’ feet. “If you’re planning such an early start, what are you doing down here?”

Her gaze went to the stacks of books, numbering in the thousands.

There was no filing system or handy librarian to point her in the proper direction. Finding the right information on the Grim could take months, but neither Kali nor Harry had that kind of time. On the other hand, Grandpa Lyall was a world-renowned expert on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions, which was what the Grim was, in a way. It wasn’t quite up there with Boggarts and Poltergeists and belonged more to the world of Divination and superstition, but picking his brain wouldn’t be a waste of time.

“What do you know about the Grim?” she asked, settling down in her armchair.

*******

The journey back to school was unremarkable, so very unlike the trip on the 1st of September.

The Hogwarts Express sped past the frost-covered countryside, heading north like a migratory metal beast eager to return home.

Every compartment buzzed with the excited chatter of students sharing their holiday stories with their friends and showing off their Yule presents. People ran up and down the corridors, seeking their various acquaintances to exchange news or gossip. The entire train brimmed with noise and frantic energy, except for one compartment, which remained quiet.

Kali had found Blaise and Daphne already seated at the front of the train, each staring out the window but seeing nothing. Going by the brief synopses of their holidays, Blaise was less than impressed with stepfather n°6, and Daphne had been forced to spend time with an unpleasant aunt. Neither was upset that the holidays had ended.

For her part, Kali wanted to go home. She felt the urge tugging at her insides as though a string were wrapped around her heart and were pulling her backwards. The homesickness would fade, she knew that, but it was unpleasant while it lasted. So the three of them sat in silence, mulling over that which vexed them.

*******

Classes started up first thing on Monday.

The last thing anyone felt like doing on a raw January morning was to spend two hours on the grounds, but apparently, Care of Magical Creatures was not an indoor class, no matter the weather.

Kali walked down the slope to Hagrid’s hut ahead of her housemates, trudging through the slosh that pretended to be snow, hiding as much of her face in the folds of her scarf as she could manage. The cold sneaked in regardless, biting at her skin and forcing so many shivers from her that she was practically vibrating.

The sight of a bonfire crackling outside the small wooden cabin made her heart soar, and she picked up speed, the promise of warmth dissipating her discomfort.

The stacks of wood flamed and roared, exuding enough heat to be felt from metres away. It washed over Kali like a blanket, and her eyelids fluttered as she basked in it like a lizard under the summer sun.

A high-pitched croak had Kali’s eyes snapping open. She looked for the source but saw only Hagrid and the rest of the class joining her, everyone crowding close to the fire.

“All right,” said Hagrid, his voice soft and hesitant. He had become more demur after the Hippogriff incident at the start of term, to the point where he’d had Kali and her classmates raising Flobberworms for the past few months—a pointless exercise given that Flobberworms preferred to be left alone and do nothing. “Who can tell me what creatures like fire?”

Predictably, Hermione Granger’s hand shot up.

She, Ron, and Harry stood on the other side of the bonfire with the rest of the Gryffindors, all huddled close together. Hermione’s hair sat a little flatter on her head today, damp from the snow or a shower, Kali wasn’t sure, but the Gryffindor made up for the lost inches of height by bouncing from her heels to the tips of her toes.

“Go ahead, Hermione,” said Hagrid.

Her hand dropped, and her bouncing slowed but didn’t stop. “Dragon’s are the most common creatures associated with fire, but they’re far from the only ones. There are also Phoenixes, Firebirds, Chimeras, Fire Serpents, and Salamanders. Other entities with an affinity for fire that aren’t classified as creatures include Cherufe, Fire Giants, Afārīt, and Lampads. Fire creatures and beings are often viewed as more dangerous than their non-incendiary peers because of the easy propagation of their destructiveness. Magical fires are infamously difficult to put out and spread much faster than any other kind.”

Hagrid smiled. Although it reached his eyes, it was nowhere near as bright as it had been on his first day as a teacher. “Well done. Ten points for Gryffindor.”

The high-pitched croak sounded again, and Kali tracked it to the bonfire. There, amidst the crackling logs and leaping flames, lay a lizard-like creature with six legs and skin of a deep, burning scarlet. Many more of the small amphibians played in the fire, leaping from one flaming branch to the next like children in a playground.

As more people noticed the Salamanders, Hagrid cleared his throat. “Now, dragons’re difficult to come by”—more than a couple of people looked relieved to hear this—“but Fire Dwellin’ Salamanders don’t have many restrictions put on ‘em by the law. Why’s that?”

Again, Hermione’s hand reached for the sky, but this time,  so did  Kali’s.

“Kali?” said Hagrid.

Kali didn’t miss the disappointed pout that flitted over Hermione’s features. She threw the Gryffindor a wink over the bonfire, and Hermione managed a small smile.

“Dragons are more dangerous than Salamanders,” said Kali. “They’re bigger, stronger, more territorial, and are built like apex predators. Salamanders are small easy to subdue because they're only resistant to fire spells. They can’t spread like dragons can either since they can’t survive outside their fire for more than six hours.”

“That’s right. Take ten points for Slytherin.” Hagrid turned and grabbed a log that was thicker than Kali’s torso and threw it into the fire. Sparks flew, and the flames engulfed the timber. “Salamanders can’t survive long outside their birth fire, so yer job is to make sure the fire doesn’t go out.”

They did just that, collecting dry wood and leaves from the edge of the forest and tending to the fire as the Salamanders scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. Kali found a spot a little further away from her classmates, which was rife with fallen branches, and she started stacking them in her arms.

When her pile came close to reaching her chin and wobbled every time she moved, she turned to leave, but heavy footfalls headed her way, cracking leaves and twigs as they went, making no effort to keep quiet.

Harry rounded a tree and marched down the small slope to where she stood.

A smile passed over  Kali’s features, but it faded in front of the sparks of anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

His glare burned hotter than the bonfire, his anger almost tangible in the air between them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Your father is the reason my parents are dead!”

His shout rang through the forest, and Kali took a step back, gripping the branches closer to her chest, her knuckles going white around them.

“I thought you knew.”

Her voice barely sounded above a whisper, so soft it was almost lost in the rattle of the wind through the trees. Guilt itched at her insides because, of course, he hadn’t known. How could he have? He wasn’t close to his aunt and uncle, and even if he were, Lily and her sister hadn’t got along well enough to know each other’s friends. Harry had no way of knowing how close his and Kali’s parents had been.

“I didn’t,” he snapped. The words cracked like a whip, but beneath his anger lay something else, something lost and confused. He tried to blink the redness from his eyes, but it wouldn’t abate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, still clutching the branches like the flimsiest of shields. “If I’d known, I would have told you.”

He glared even as the tears leaked out. “No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have lied to me like everyone else has. I had to overhear hear it at the Three Broomsticks to find out!”

“No.” She stood straighter and loosened her grip on the kindling. “I won’t ever lie to you, Harry. I can promise you that.”

Harry stared at her. He struggled to hold on to all the pent up rage and frustration, but it suddenly had nowhere to go. Without a target upon which to direct his wrath, his shoulders fell, and he looked down at the ground.

“Why did he do it?”

“I don’t think he did,” she said softly, but his gaze snapped up to meet hers as though she’d shouted. “Call it a biased opinion, but I don’t think my father betrayed your parents.”

“He was their Secret Keeper.”

“There are ways around the Fidelius Charm, dark magic, the kind Voldemort was well-versed in.”

Harry shook his head. “Dumbledore said—”

“Dumbledore isn’t all-knowing,” she cut in. “None of it adds up. I understand if you think I’m fooling myself because I don’t want my father to be the bad guy. But …” She heard the breathless desperation in her voice and hated it, hated how strained and illogical she sounded. She bit her lip and shook her head.

He watched her, leaving his tears to dry on his cheeks, his mind working behind those bright green eyes. “Why doesn’t it add up?”

A burst of hope shot through her like a Warming Charm cast with too much gusto: mildly painful but leaving comfort in its wake.

“Your dad was my father’s best friend. When he was sixteen, my father’s mother disowned him, and it was the Potters who took him in—your dad and your grandparents. He loved your family. He would never have hurt them.”

“What about those thirteen people he killed?”

That was where her argument always failed. “I don’t know. It could have been a mistake or an accident … I know that after my mum died, I did some things, some pretty damaging things, none of it on purpose, but …” She shook her head. “I don’t have all the answers; no one does, no one except for Sirius Black.”

Harry bent and picked up a stick that had fallen from her pile during her tirade. “Kali—”

She saw the doubt on his face and in the way he wouldn’t meet her eye and said, “Don’t you at least want to know the truth? You, more than anyone, deserve that.”

His silent pause felt heavier than his anger had, but eventually, he nodded, and that was all she needed. The tension left her shoulders, and she managed a smile that didn’t feel strained. She returned the nod, and he returned the smile, and whatever weight had been pressing down on her chest evaporated.

Harry returned her stick and collected a few of his own. She waited for him, content to enjoy a silence that was neither overbearing nor suffocating even though it didn’t last long.

“How come you’re not afraid of saying his name?” Harry asked. “Voldemort’s name.”

The logs in her arms made her shrug awkward, but she managed it without dropping any. “Gran and Remus have never shied away from saying it, so I suppose I never learnt the habit. Besides, it’s just a name, right? A nickname even. What harm could come from saying it aloud?”

“A lot of people don’t see it that way.” He twirled a twig between his fingers, one too small for the bonfire, staring at it far too intently for a moment before chucking it over his shoulder. “Did you know that he got the name Voldemort by rearranging the letters of his real name so that they spelt out ‘I am Lord Voldemort’?”

Kali snorted. “Poor thing. He went to all that trouble to find himself a cool nickname, but no one uses it. He must have been devastated.”

Harry laughed, the sound rough with fading anxiety, and Kali joined him.

“On a completely unrelated note,” she said, “I looked into the Grim over the holidays, and I’m convinced that it’s not a death omen.”

“What is it then?” he asked. His shoulders dropped, and his eyes shone as though he wanted to be relieved, but after all the fuss that had been made, he needed to be sure first.

“ According to the books  and my grandfather , Grims are the protectors of graveyards and of the dead.  C ertain cultures believe that the first being buried in a cemetery can’t cross over and is instead bound there to help other spirits move on and protect them from evil. People wanted to avoid th at fate for their loved ones, so they sometimes buried a dog first.”

Harry frowned and nodded. “The Grim.”

“Exactly. There’s a theory that says that all those who were killed by a Grim were grave robbers or tomb raiders, torn to shreds by a giant, black dog. There are cases of people seeing a Grim despite never having considered desecrating a grave, but they’re rarer, and their deaths tend to be because of clumsiness rather than a canine attack. Their suspicious minds saw a death omen, and they panicked, bringing about their own end either accidentally or not. So more likely than not, you have a stray black dog following you around.”

His expression went from avid to dubious with a simple twist of his eyebrows. “It followed me from Magnolia Crescent to Hogwarts?” 

She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

He relaxed, and the last of the tension dissolved from the air. “Well, so long as I’m not going to die, I don’t mind how many strays stalk me.”

Kali grinned at him, and, with their armfuls of branches, they headed back to the bonfire. As she gave him a hand up the slope, something he had said earlier tickled her mind.

“I thought you weren’t allowed into Hogsmeade.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed into a guilty wince. “I’ve been sneaking out.”

Laughing and shaking her head, Kali said, “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included quite a few time jumps in this chapter, which I hope didn’t make the pacing too jumpy.
> 
> How do you feel about Kali’s various relationships? And what do you think of the Lake House? That setting will become relevant later on, the underground chamber especially. 
> 
> I’d love to hear your thoughts, and I look forward to seeing your reaction to the next chapter!


	13. A New Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: After finding out who Sirius Black was to James and Lily, Harry confronted Kali, but the situation was quickly diffused, and Kali revealed what she had learned during the winter holidays about the Grim.

Through the oculus window, an icy tundra stretched for miles in every direction without a living soul in sight. Glacial and forlorn, it mirrored the atmosphere of the heptagonal office.

Cornelius Fudge sat in his high-backed chair, which dwarfed him so much that he looked like a child anxiously facing his parents after engaging in a wrongdoing. Albus Dumbledore and Freyja Morrigan filled the parental roles admirably, staring at the Minister with equal parts disbelief, disappointment, and, in Freyja’s case, anger—a cold, hard fury that made the arctic tundra look inviting.

“Excuse me?” she said in a slow and quiet tone, strained from the restraint she put upon herself.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice, Madam Morrigan,” said Cornelius, pushing himself back as deeply into the padding of his seat as the chair would allow. “I should have given this order the minute Sirius Black escaped.”

“Cornelius, this is too much,” said Albus, fighting the urge to edge away from Freyja also. “It’s inhumane.”

“Inhumane?” Cornelius sputtered, wide-eyed and reproachful. “What that man did to Peter Pettigrew and those Muggles was inhumane. This is protocol.”

“There is no protocol.” The words grated together through Freyja’s gritted teeth as though her jaw had soldered itself shut. “This has never happened before. There is no procedure to follow, only choices that you must make, and this is the wrong one.”

Albus nodded. “I agree. Sirius must be captured, but to subject him to the Dementor’s Kiss is too monstrous an act.”

Cornelius mopped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief and muttered, “Well, at least you two are finally agreeing on something.”

A sigh racked through the Minister, making his jowls quiver. His skin hung from him like an ill-fitting suit, his once plump figure losing some of its girth with every passing day. The situation was a difficult one, Albus was all too aware of that, but the Dementor’s Kiss was the most barbaric punishment the Ministry had at its disposal.

 _The Dementor’s Kiss_ —a pretty name for an atrocious act.

Not even Albus knew what was hidden beneath a Dementor’s hood, for those wicked creatures only revealed their faces to use their vilest weapon. To administer the Kiss, a Dementor had to clamp its jaws upon the mouth of the person it wished to destroy utterly, and then sucked out that person’s soul and their sanity along with it.

It was possible to exist without a soul so long as the body remained in working order, but to lose your soul was to lose your moral compass and your sense of self. Combined with the Dementors’ ability to feed off memories, their Kiss could wipe the human mind clear and warp it until there was little left but a shrivelled, broken carcass. To recover from something like that was impossible. Once consumed by a Dementor, the soul was lost forever, and the victim became nothing but an empty shell, capable of existing but nothing more.

That was the fate that awaited Sirius Black should he be found, a fate worse than death.

“I have received letters from nearly every witch and wizard in the country,” said Cornelius, “and they all demand the same thing: that we rid the world of any threat that Sirius Black poses.”

Albus doubted that. He knew for a fact that Sirius had more than his fair share of admirers. Albus had read the letters sent to Azkaban, the ones Sirius had never got to see, from men who praised his brutal act and from women who … well. Albus couldn’t understand from where the women’s attraction stemmed, but promising eternal love to a man behind bars seemed like the safest option for ladies attracted to violence.

Freyja leaned forward like a cobra unfurling its muscles and poising for a killing blow. Her lips parted, and Albus convinced himself that he could see venom coating them. Before her silver tongue could work its magic, Cornelius cut in.

“My decision is final,” he said, his voice a high-pitched squeak. He looked for all the world like a mouse staring into the jaws of something much higher on the food chain than it was. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.”

The dismissal took Albus by surprise. He hadn’t known Cornelius had the nerve.

Freyja sat frozen in place, her expression inscrutable, her wonderful mind struggling to comprehend the situation. Albus couldn’t fault her for the confusion because it overtook his senses as well.

Cornelius always did what people more powerful than him told him to do. It was something of which Albus disapproved, but also upon which he relied. Wizarding Britain had avoided many unethical decisions because Cornelius was easily swayed. Yet here he sat, in front of two people who outmatched him in more ways than one, holding his ground.

A knock interrupted the tense silence, and Cornelius’s new secretary, an elderly witch with stooped posture and missing teeth, cracked open the door and popped her wizened head through the opening. “Mr Ludovic Bagman is here for your meeting, Minister.”

Cornelius sprang from his seat like a Bouncing Bulb, eager for this appointment to come to an end. “Very good. Show him in.” His gaze dropped to Albus and Freyja, his protruding eyes and raised brows a less than subtle prompt for them to leave.

Freyja rose from her seat. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. With a shake of her head and a straightening of her long coat, she spun on her heels and forced a grinning Ludo Bagman to jump out of her way when their paths met at the door.

“You’re making a mistake, Cornelius,” said Albus as he too got to his feet.

Cornelius’s jaw trembled, but he held Albus’s gaze and even raised his chin. “That isn’t for you to decide.”

Albus maintained eye-contact, hoping to dampen the Minister’s resolve, but Mr Bagman finally tore his gaze away from Freyja’s retreating form and whistled as he skipped up to Cornelius’s desk. “Had to deliver a spot of bad news, did you, Cornelius?”

Mr Bagman clapped Albus on the back. “Headmaster, it’s been too long.”

“So it has, Mr Bagman.” Albus did not let his displeasure at the interruption show and instead turned to smile at his former student, who had speedily risen through the Ministry’s ranks and was now the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Ludo’s impressive build had gone to seed since his Quidditch days, and his robes stretched over his large belly. Not a spot of grey marred his blond hair, and his rosy complexion and round eyes gave him the look of an overgrown child.

“What a year we’ve got coming up. Isn’t that right, gents?” Ludo rubbed his hands together and hunched his broad shoulders so that his height matched Albus’s. “What with the Quidditch World Cup and that little something special going on at Hogwarts next term”—Ludo jostled Albus’s elbow and threw him a wink—“I don’t know what’s got me more excited.”

Cornelius sighed and dropped into his chair. “I told you, Ludo, with this Sirius Black situation, we may well need to cancel all that.”

Ludo bounced on the balls of his feet and waved away the concern. “Nonsense. The Dementors will catch Black long before that, and if they don’t, old Barty Crouch will.” His bouncing stopped and his eyes widened, but his smile didn’t fade. “I’ve never seen him so hacked off. You’d think Black spat on Barty’s honour with the way Barty goes red in the face any time Black’s mentioned.”

Albus did not doubt that Bartemius Crouch, the current Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, would take Sirius’s escape as a personal offence. After all, Mr Crouch was the man responsible for imprisoning Sirius as well as most of Azkaban’s other occupants. His ruthless efficiency at putting away criminals had been compared by many to the viscousness of the Dark Side, which was why he had been demoted at the end of the war. That was the man who had sealed Sirius’s fate, someone as morally reproachable as many Death Eaters.

“I’ll take my leave now, Cornelius,” said Albus, “but I urge you to reconsider your decision.”

He nodded at Ludo and left the Minister’s office.

Thoughts of the last war swirled through his mind. For years, fear had been all anyone had known. People had been as afraid of leaving their homes as they had been of being murdered in their beds. Neighbours had turned on one another, friends had betrayed each other, and families had fallen apart. Trust became a rarity, and society had crumbled without it. Mistakes were made by all, not just the Dark Side, and lives were lost because of them.

Albus had acted with absolute certainty because leadership left no room for indecision. He’d buried his doubts because they had slowed him down, but now they resurfaced like an old wound reopening, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been wrong.

The big green doors opened as Albus stepped up to them, and the chilly evening air crept into the short corridor.

Two Aurors stood by the Roman columns. Their full-dress uniforms covered them from head to toe in scarlet with black undertones in their hats, belts, sashes, sleeves, and hems. The gold blazon of the Ministry of Magic glittered on their chests. Neither Auror acknowledged Albus when he bid them goodnight, and he didn’t expect them to. They stood stiller than the statues in the courtyard, their postures rigid and immobile.

Snow crunched beneath Albus’s feet as he followed the winding walkway through the garden.

Only the firethorn bushes added spots of colour to the scenery, their bright red berries contrasting with the crisp whiteness of fresh snow. Winter fairies flew from one bush to the next, collecting berries and carrying them to the nests hidden within the leafless trees. Their shimmering wings caught the light of the single streetlamp that stood in the middle of the courtyard, giving the fairies the appearance of little, glowing orbs.

A small flock of them flew in front of Albus and began formation gliding. Fairies were vain creatures that would do most anything for attention. Albus watched the show with a courteous smile and clapped obligingly when the dance ended.

He picked up his pace to avoid another performance but stopped when he rounded a large firethorn.

Beneath the lamp post, on a backless stone bench, sat Freyja Morrigan.

Sitting straight-backed with her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands in her lap, she looked regal even though her gaze was miles away. Her dark hair fell to her waist and framed her face in loose curls, bringing out the sharpness of her cheekbones and the strength of her jawline.

Time had treated her well, but much like Cornelius, Freyja had aged since Sirius’s escape. Wrinkles that had not been there in August now lined her face, and her skin had started losing its firmness, taking on a doughiness that would sag until she eventually looked her age. As well-practised at hiding emotions as she was, her body was less adept at managing stress.

In the low light, her dark eyes appeared bottomless like two small abysses, but they gleamed with the glassy lustre of obsidian. There was life in her yet.

With a blink, her gaze was on him. “It’s rude to stare.”

“I apologise.” He stepped into the heptagonal space where the flagstone path widened into a sitting area. No fairies flew about here, no doubt because of the dark cloud hanging over Freyja’s head.

Freyja’s posture loosened. “Can I ask you a question?” Neither her expression nor her voice gave anything away. Albus nodded. “Why did you turn down the Minister for Magic position?”

Albus’s eyebrows shot up, but he evened them out in an instant. He’d been asked that question before but not in many years.

He joined Freyja on the bench, taking his weight off old bones that didn’t appreciate the cold, and cast a Warming Charm as well as a Privacy Charm over himself and Freyja before he answered. “I have found that there is nothing more important than passing on skills and knowledge. No amount of political power can compare to honing young minds.”

There was more to it than that, of course. Freyja surmised as much. “And?”

Albus turned to face her, taking in the perpetually guarded expression of a woman whose mind not even the most skilled Legilimens could invade. “And I discovered at a young age that I was not well-suited for political power.” Her demeanour barely shifted; all that changed was a slight lift to her thin eyebrows. Albus smiled and folded his hands in his lap. “How is your mother?”

Any hint of an expression flitted from Freyja’s features more swiftly than a Phoenix. “She’s well.”

Albus was well-versed in arduous family relations, but Freyja’s relationship with her mother was one of a kind. Then again, the same could be said for most of Lilith Morrigan’s relationships.

Empathy, with a capital ‘e’, was as rare a gift as the Inner Eye. As with Seers, Empaths’ skills were often called into question. Many assumed that an Empath’s capacity to read people came from an affinity at Legilimency, except Empaths read emotions, not thoughts.

When Albus first met Lilith, they were ten-years-old. He had just moved to Godric’s Hollow. After Lilith found him reading beneath a grove of trees, she decided they would be friends. Albus had not argued with her decision, and he soon learnt that even if he had, it was an argument he would have lost. Lilith had a patient and polite persistence about her that could wear down most anyone.

There was very little that Albus had done during his late childhood and teenage years that he had done without Lilith. They had received their Hogwarts letters on the same day and had bought their wands together while their parents had waited outside. Albus had only had to wait half an hour before Lilith had joined him at the Gryffindor table following her sorting. In their fifth year, they had been named as the Gryffindor prefects and in their seventh year as Head Boy and Head Girl.

They had grown up together, but it had been decades since they had last seen one another.

Albus wondered if Freyja was aware that he had once known her mother better than anyone, and if so, did she know of the reason for their falling-out? On the one hand, Lilith had always been very good at keeping secrets; on the other, Freyja was exceptional.

“I wish you hadn’t turned down the ministerial position,” she said, her gaze going to the scene of two fairies fighting over a berry larger than both their heads. “At least you can be reasoned with.”

Albus nodded his agreement, a sense of dread sneaking through his mind. “This is a troubling turn of events.”

Cornelius’s sudden inclination toward independent decision-making did not bode well for the future. This situation with Sirius and the Dementors proved that the Minister meant to appease the masses rather than do what was right, bending to the whims of hysteria and inadvertently feeding it instead of curing it. Even without a Seer’s Sight, Albus could see that this did not foreshadow anything good, especially with the threats brewing over the horizon.

If ever there were a time for powerful allies, it was now.

“I believe I may have made a mistake,” he said softly. It was not an easy admission to make. Making minor blunders was nothing to be ashamed of, and he often appreciated the novelty and opportunity to learn from them, but this was no little thing.

The berry burst and splattered the fighting fairies with red. They both wailed and quickly dove out of sight. Only then did Freyja turn back to Albus. “A mistake?”

“I have started to doubt my certainty of Sirius’s guilt.”

Freyja scrutinised him but gave nothing away, no joy, no relief, no distrust. “You read my case file.”

“When you gave a preliminary copy to Cornelius, his conviction wavered, and he asked me to dispel his doubts. I couldn’t. You present a very convincing case.”

“Not convincing enough.”

Her hard gaze went to a gaggle of fairies. Her jaw clenched a little tighter than usual into a look Albus knew well, although not from her mother. His heart ached at the familiarity. He once again wondered how much Freyja knew of her family’s past.

With a sigh and a mental rebuke for letting his mind wander so far off course, Albus said, “There is no changing the mind of someone who does not wish for their mind to be changed. Cornelius will follow the masses, wherever they may lead him, so perhaps the best course of action is to change the public’s opinion.”

“Which is easily done for someone with connections to the media, but my contacts in this country are limited.”

“Mine aren’t.”

Freyja’s already minimal movements paused before she slowly looked over at Albus. “Are you suggesting that we conspire _together_?”

“I don’t know whether Sirius is guilty or innocent, but I am aware that there’s only one way to find out. If Sirius is guilty, then at the very least, a trial will help uncover how he escaped from Azkaban so that it can be avoided in the future. And if Sirius did betray James, I would like to know why.”

It was a blind hope, but perhaps learning the secret behind that deception would allow Albus to better understand the betrayal that had been haunting him for so many years.

“Why were you so convinced of his guilt?” Freyja asked.

“A number of reasons, none of which seem to hold up any longer. The climate at the time distorted a great many things and created a narrow-mindedness that blinded many, myself included.”

Not that the war was entirely to blame. Albus had learnt the hard way that trust and friendship could crumble overnight. It was possible that he had let his experience colour his perception.

“Why are you convinced of his innocence?” he asked.

“Because my daughter was a good judge of character.” A barely perceptible edge crept into Freyja’s voice. Albus couldn’t blame her for it.

He had spoken to Asherah on only a handful of occasions, but during their last meeting, he had behaved in a loathsome manner. After Voldemort's defeat, Asherah had come to Albus, looking for Harry. Albus had explained the situation, the protection Lily's blood relative offered the boy, but Asherah had argued. She had only stopped when he had threatened to ensure that Walburga Black got full custody of Kali.

He had been so concerned with preparing for another war that he had made threats befit of any Dark Wizard, promising to endanger a child should he not get his way.

“Sirius asked her to marry him,” said Freyja when Albus’s silence stretched a moment too long for her liking. “After his initial blind panic over the news of the pregnancy, he bought a ring and proposed. He didn’t love her in a way that warranted marriage, and his heart and preferences lay elsewhere, but still, he got down on one knee and asked. It was presumptuous and old-fashioned of him, but he wanted to do the honourable thing.”

Albus hadn’t known that. In fact, he knew very little of Sirius and Asherah’s relationship. “How did they meet?”

“At a party with copious amounts of alcohol. I believe Asherah was hiding from photographers and Sirius and Remus had started on another of their ‘breaks’, or whatever it is that young people call it nowadays.”

“A fortunate encounter,” Albus mused. “Your granddaughter seems like a wonderful child.” The barest hint of a smile curved Freyja’s lips, and she nodded. “She turned fourteen last week, isn’t that right?”

Owls had flown into the Great Hall throughout all of breakfast, delivering parcels and letters to Kali. Her friends had had to help her cart it all out before they’d gone to class.

“That’s right.” Freyja did not have a grandmotherly look about her, but her small smile softened her features enough to let anyone know how much she cared for her granddaughter. “Did you never want children?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been suited for the parental role.” He had proved that a long time ago after failing to raise his brother and sister following their mother’s death.

The thought of having children of his own had crossed his mind only once: when he’d heard of Lilith’s pregnancy. It had been a bitter reflection of envy and dread. Over forty years of competitiveness, and she had finally found a way to break the tie between them. She had won over the man Albus had loved, even though it had only been for a short while.

As it had turned out, some men never changed. They merely pretended in order to get what they wanted.

“Neither was I,” said Freyja. “My ex-husband raised Asherah more than I did.” Regret tightened her features, and any hint of softness vanished, but she shook her head and directed the conversation somewhere less troublesome. “That is why she was so enthralled by that awful sport.”

“Quidditch.” Lilith hadn’t been a fan either. “Your ex-husband played?”

Freyja rose from her seat and nodded. “Professionally, but Ash was much better.” She slid the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and let out a long and quiet exhale before turning to Albus. “You’ll make arrangements with your contacts in the media and inform me of whatever progress you make?”

“Of course.” Albus got to his feet. His old bones complained and cracked, making him regret not taking his potions this morning. Feeling his age had stopped being enjoyable a long time ago. “Take care, Freyja.”

She held out her hand, and he shook it with a small smile. “You too, Albus.”

The snow crunched beneath her heels, and he watched her disappear into the night pursued by a couple of performing fairies whom she deftly ignored. Albus rubbed his chest over where his heart squeezed as his mind conjured thoughts of what could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you liking slowly getting background information on the original characters? I'm doing my best not to info-dump, but I'm worried that in trying to avoid that, I'm not giving you enough details.
> 
> What insights and data do you feel you're missing regarding Kali and Freyja?


	14. Quidditch and Tutoring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Minister Fudge took extreme measures to put an end to the problem that is Sirius Black. Albus Dumbledore thought about his past and conspired with Freyja Morrigan to subvert the Minister’s efforts.

The cold air burnt Kali’s lungs and stung her skin. Her feet slapped against the frozen ground, sending shockwaves through her shins.

She ran along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, close enough to the treeline for the danger of it to add to her adrenaline, but not so close that she would get into trouble. Professor Snape had eased up on the detentions of late, and she didn’t want to squander her newly found freedom by getting caught breaking the rules.

A light breeze rattled the branches overhead. Brown and leafless, they stretched toward the clear sky like grasping fingers, reaching for Circe only knew what. If Kali stared at them for too long, they turned into skeletal hands clawing their way out of shallow graves. She avoided that by concentrating on where she put her feet.

Pan trotted beside her, refusing to wander too far.

The tip of her wand peeked from beneath her left sleeve, the duelling sheath that Gran had bought her for her birthday digging into her forearm. It wasn’t reassuring enough for Pan who seemed to think that if left unsupervised, Kali might take a detour and stumble across the Centaurs or Acromantulas or any of the forest’s other inhabitants, half of which Pan had crossed paths with already.

Kali wasn’t sure whether he explored the woods to satisfy her curiosity or if it was because this creature-filled forest reminded him of his first home. She didn’t dare ask.

She put on a burst of speed but had to slow down once she passed Hagrid’s cabin. At the castle doors, she jogged on the spot for a moment longer before she started her stretches.

Thoughts of forests and abandonment crept back into her mind, but before they took root, Pan’s head snapped to the left, ears perked and eyes wary.

 _“What is it?”_ Kali asked.

Pan didn’t answer with words. Instead, he sent her images and sounds and smells.

The sudden sensory input hit her like an angry Erumpent. She squeezed her eyes shut to shake off the nausea and headache, but Pan didn’t notice. His unblinking gaze never left the forest. She muttered half of a curse before her brain caught up with what Pan had sent her: a scent on the breeze, a light thud of footsteps, a shadow moving between the trees.

The scent vanished before he could process it, wafting past long enough to tease, but not long enough to reveal anything.

It had been happening a lot since the start of term. If it wasn’t a disappearing scent, it was padded footsteps on stone floors, fallen leaves and branches cracking under the weight of something out of sight, a prickle at the back of Kali's neck, a flash of _something_ out of the corner of her eye.

At first, she had shrugged it off as being part of the haunted castle vibe that Hogwarts had going for it, but now she wasn’t so sure. She was starting to think that she had a stalker, and not one of the human variety—those were easier to catch. Maybe it was just Peeves messing with her, but he had the attention span of a two-year-old. She doubted he would have managed to keep it up for this long.

 _“Do you want me to take a look?”_ asked Pan.

It went against every instinct he had to ignore a possible threat—the real and deadly kind—but whatever this was, it didn’t feel dangerous. It didn’t feel safe either, which was why she didn’t want Pan going after it alone. As she had other things to do today, finding her invisible stalker would have to wait.

_“Not if you want to eat before the game starts.”_

The tempting smells of breakfast wafted through the air, and, as always, Pan’s stomach won out. He was the first through the front door and didn’t complain when she took a detour to her dorm for a quick shower. The Great Hall was still mostly empty by the time they returned, with only the Ravenclaw Quidditch team huddled together, bleary-eyed, and a handful of others scattered at each table.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked, sitting in front of Theodore Nott.

Theodore was her only third-year housemate who held neutral ground in her conflict with Draco and his merry band of blood elitists. Kali had assumed that being the heir to a noble, pure-blood family, Theodore would have favoured Draco, but outside of class, the two rarely spoke.

He glanced up at her and bookmarked the page he was at in a well-worn paperback. “I wanted to get an early start on homework, and yourself?”

“I went for a run.” She passed Pan a piece of omelette before piling some onto her plate. “We don’t have that much homework for next week, do we?”

“Those of us who want to attempt to keep up with you do.” He removed his glasses and put them down on the cover of his book. His narrow blue eyes looked surprisingly humorous given that this was the longest conversation he and Kali had ever had together.

“I’m happy I can motivate you to improve your grades.”

He smiled, revealing two front teeth that were longer than the rest. “It’s been bad enough always coming in third after Draco and Granger. Now I’m not even in the top three. My father will be disappointed.”

The notion didn’t seem upsetting to him, but it was always hard to tell with the high-borns.

“I’m sure you’ll manage to make it up to him.”

He hummed and fiddled with the bent corner of his book. “I was thinking you could tutor me.”

Kali paused with a goblet of pumpkin juice halfway to her lips.

Theodore smoothed the paperback’s cover and met her gaze with a slow blink and no hint as to why he would endanger the neutrality he had been holding on to since the start of term.

 _“Maybe he wants something else, and this is his underhanded way of asking for it,”_ Pan piped in, still munching on his breakfast.

Or perhaps he had surmised that Draco would make for a terrible teacher, and with a choice left between Kali and a Gryffindor Muggle-born, he knew which option would do the least damage to his reputation.

_“You have some serious trust issues, did you know that?”_

_“You were thinking it too.”_

He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t going to let paranoia get the better of her. “I could do that,” she said aloud.

Theodore’s shoulders dropped an inch, and the muscles around his eyes loosened. “Good. Are you busy this evening? Say at seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” she agreed. “The library shouldn’t be too busy then.”

Students trudged, walked, and skipped into the Great Hall, bringing with them the excited chatter and over-abundance of House pride that only existed on game days.

From what Pan had overheard from Draco, Kali knew that today’s match would decide whether Gryffindor stood a chance in the school leagues. If they lost, they would be out of the running for the Cup, which explained why so many people wore Ravenclaw blue. The Slytherin team had gone over the top in its show of support, with robes charmed to match the Ravenclaw House colours and a large bronze eagle painted over each of their backs.

Having both of her mothers as well as one of her grandfathers obsess over Quidditch had not imparted upon Kali an appreciation for the sport. A bad fall from a broom when she was young hadn’t helped with the matter, and Leilani’s accident had cemented Kali’s opinion. She didn’t hate it, but she couldn’t get very excited about it either.

A commotion by the door drew her attention. She spotted Harry, decked in his Quidditch robes and surrounded by a guard of honour made up of the boys from his dorm. They stood tall, chins raised and smiles bright, casting glances at the broom slung over Harry’s shoulder.

It took Kali a long second to figure out what the fuss was about. One couldn’t grow up in a household filled with the Quidditch-obsessed and not pick up a thing or two, especially when it came to broomsticks.

The broom resting upon Harry’s shoulder was a Firebolt, a recently released, state-of-the-art racing broom that was the envy of any Quidditch player and quite a few non-Quidditch players too if the swell of excited muttering that overcame the Great Hall was any indication.

Kali chanced a glance at the Slytherin team and saw only wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” said Blaise as he and Daphne slipped past the group of Gryffindors and sat on either side of Kali. “It’s only a broom.”

“Not just any broom,” said Daphne, her lips parted as she stared at the Gryffindor table. “It’s an aerodynamic masterpiece.”

Kali looked over at Daphne and Blaise leaned around Kali to do the same. It took Daphne a moment, but she eventually felt the eyes boring into her and glanced over. Her shoulders scrunched, and redness flooded her cheeks.

“What?”

“Since when have you been a fan of Quidditch?” Blaise’s voice drawled with every word, but Kali didn’t miss the undertone of surprise.

Daphne shrugged, her shoulders touching her ears. “It’s a good sport.”

“Do you play?” asked Kali.

Daphne shook her head, lowered her gaze, and mumbled her answer. “No.”

She wouldn’t look away from her plate, and her shoulders seemed tense enough that they might snap in two, so Kali dropped the subject for fear that her friend might hurt herself by trying to avoid it.

Pan scoffed. He snatched a piece of bacon while no one was looking, scarfed it down, and turned into a peregrine falcon. _“This is an aerodynamic masterpiece. That thing over there is an abomination. Humans weren’t meant to fly. It’s unnatural.”_

 _“You’re just jealous that you’re not the centre of attention today,”_ she said as Blaise and Theodore started discussing homework from last week.

She excused herself from the table and headed for the door.

Across the hall, Harry’s smile shone brighter than she’d seen it in months. His mood had been rocky since his last Quidditch game. Not even discovering that Sirius Black was his godfather had sent him into such a gloomy state, but all it took to raise his spirits was a new broom. It was useful information to know.

Pan followed her from the Great Hall, and when his flight got wobbly, he changed into a cat and trotted beside her.

People loitered in the entrance hall, waiting for the match to begin. Kali veered toward the dungeons to grab a library book she needed to return as well as another jumper, but Pan’s hearing caught the sound of suspicious whisperings.

“It’s given me an idea.” The voice came from a dark alcove halfway down the steps to the dungeons. “What if we hid some in the Ravenclaw team’s robes?”

Kali and Pan shared a look and edged closer.

“We could put a timer on it and have it go off right before the match,” someone answered.

“That way, it isn’t cheating. We won’t have interfered with the game, only given them a bit of a fright.”

Kali stepped in front of the alcove and spotted Fred and George Weasley wearing their Quidditch robes. In their hands, sat small crates filled with tiny bottles that tinkled like fairy bells when either of the boys moved.

“You two must have a talent for Shrinking Charms,” she said.

The twins jumped like startled cats. They would have dropped their crates had they not clutched them between both hands.

Wearing matching outfits with matching expressions of shock and surprise, it was near impossible to tell Fred and George apart. Pan could do it by scent, but when he wasn’t around, Kali’s sense of smell wasn’t good enough to make the distinction. There were slight differences in their speech and actions that were barely noticeable most of the time but more reliable for when she was alone, except when they were too far away or were deliberately mucking up their mannerisms. Right now, she had to rely on Pan because the twins weren’t giving her any hints.

“What do you mean?” asked George, lowering his hands to a less noticeable height.

“The crates.” Kali nodded toward the ones in Fred’s hands. He closed his fingers around them. “They’re filled with bottles of Butterbeer.”

Fred peered at her with narrowed eyes. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing much, although I disagree. Putting those in the Ravenclaws’ pockets and unshrinking them before the match would definitely count as cheating, and cheating is wrong.” She felt the need to remind them.

“Ohh,” Fred cooed and ruffled her hair. “The Slytherin on our shoulder.”

“Piss off,” she said, shoving him away and rolling her eyes. “Do you two have an underground trading business or are you that sure that Gryffindor will be celebrating after the match?”

“We have a Firebolt on our side,” said Fred.

George grinned. “We can’t lose.”

Kali looked from one cocky smirk to the next. “Have you seen the Ravenclaw line-up for this game? Their Keeper may not be brilliant, but their Seeker is.”

“Not as brilliant as Harry,” said George.

“You haven’t seen him play properly yet,” said Fred with a confident nod. “That last game doesn’t count. There’s a reason he was the youngest player Hogwarts had seen in a century.”

“Not everyone seems to think so.” She leaned against the alcove’s side. “I’ve seen a few people place bets against him.”

The clandestine betting ring at Hogwarts was something to behold. Run by the Ravenclaw seventh-years, it was nearly as old as Hogwarts and covered everything from test results to Gobstone matches. Every teacher in the school knew about it, but either it was too much of an ingrained tradition to put an end to, or they’d tried and failed and somewhere along the line given up.

“It’s a wager they’ll lose,” said Fred, mirroring her position. “What about you, Black? Who are you betting on?”

She pushed away from the wall and, with a shake of her head, started down the stairs. “Like I’d tell you.”

The moment she turned a corner, the twins’ whispering started up again.

 _“What are the odds one of them ends up in prison?”_ Pan asked.

_“They’re harmless.”_

_“My tail hairs are still blackened from that ‘harmless’ explosion of theirs. Do you know how difficult it is to fly with singed tail feathers?”_

She let him rant as she headed to her dorm and then to the library. If she was quick, she might have time to peruse the shelves and borrow a few more books.

She took three different secret passages to get to where she wanted to go. The last one wasn’t much of a shortcut, but she went down it anyway

She had done well since school began, discovering all kinds of secret corridors and hidden rooms, but as it had turned out, she knew very little when compared to the hive of information that the twins shared. Pan had lost count of the number of times he had spotted them popping out of walls and jumping out from behind tapestries and statues. The frequent jump-scares were another reason he wasn’t Fred and George’s biggest fan.

Pan left her side and returned to the Great Hall when she arrived at the library. The Hogwarts librarian didn’t appreciate fur or feathers near her books. It often seemed that she would prefer to keep people away from them as well.

Kali greeted Madam Pince with a smile, and the librarian gave her a stiff nod in return.

Leaving the borrowed books on the return pile, Kali stepped over to the Charms section. This week, her curiosity led her to a shelf of books on healing spells. She leafed through a few before selecting three hefty tomes that covered everything from boils to missing limbs.

There was still time before the game started, so she heaved her pile of books to her favourite spot: a window seat on the mezzanine, hidden in a nook of the Muggle literature section.

She was halfway through the introductory chapter of one of the easier spell books when a loud snap and a flash of light broke the stillness.

Blinded, she toppled to the side but caught herself with one hand while the other grasped her wand. The book thumped to the floor at the feet of a small, mousy-haired boy holding an old-fashioned Muggle camera.

The boys stared at her as though he were the one caught off guard.

 _“At least you’ve finally learnt to go for your wand when something dangerous and scary rounds the corner,”_ Pan said with a snigger. He was pilfering food from the Gryffindor table, and his sudden screeching laughter startled the girl next to him who spilt her orange juice all over herself and him.

 _“Serves you right,”_ she muttered, trying to get her heart rate back under control. She loosened her grip on her wand and pointed it away from the child. “Who are you?”

“Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly. Taking a tentative step forward, he picked up her book and handed it to her.

“I didn’t hear you coming.” Which wasn’t surprising since he looked like he weighed less than her three new books did.

Colin’s eyes were wide, with fright or wonder, Kali couldn’t say. “Is your father really Sirius Black?”

Chest aching and expression guarded, Kali gave a slow nod. Colin started talking a mile a minute.

“He’s been all over the news, even in the Muggle world. I’m Muggle-born, and I told my dad—he’s a milkman—that you started going to school here, and he said to stay away from you, just in case. But you looked so peaceful just then, and I think that if I send him this picture, he won’t be so worried any more. What do you think?”

Kali blinked, trying to catch up. “Sure?”

His grin split his face in two. “Thanks. Hey, are you not going to watch the match? It’s Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor today, and Harry Potter has this really great new broom, so Gryffindor’s bound to win, even though my friend Jake in Hufflepuff says that they’d have to win by loads if they want a shot at winning the Cup. But I’m not worried. I know Harry can do it. Which team are you going to cheer for? Most of the Slytherins are supporting Ravenclaw, but you’re friends with Harry, right? So you’ll be on Gryffindor’s side today?”

His excited chatter died down as he waited for an answer.

Her eyes fell to his camera, her mind returning to his silent footsteps. The accusation fell from her lips before she could reign in the hard edge of her tone. “Have you been—Where outside earlier this morning?”

Colin took a step back. His mouth pursed into a confused pout, and his eyes widened further. “No. I left Gryffindor tower with the Quidditch team and went straight to the Great Hall.”

“Right.” She rubbed her eyes with one hand and let out a breath. “Sorry.”

His frightened frown fell away. “That’s all right. I’ll see you at the match.” He waved as he left, leaving Kali alone.

Her posture slumped, and she ran her hands through her hair, letting out another long breath, this one shakier than the last.

 _“You thought he was the stalker?”_ asked Pan, still licking himself clean from the orange juice mishap.

 _“I don’t know.”_ She gathered her books and glanced over her shoulder at the path leading to the rest of the library. _“No, not really. It’s just …”_ She didn’t know what it was exactly, but this stalker issue was getting to her more than she had led herself to believe.

Pan sent her a jolt of reassuring thoughts. _“I get it.”_

_“Good because I don’t.”_

She checked the books out at the front desk and considered borrowing a page from Fred and George’s book by shrinking them until they fit into her pocket, but she didn’t doubt that Madam Pince had placed magic detection spells on every book in the library. So instead, she ran to her dorm with the heavy books clutched to her chest.

It was quarter to eleven by the time she sprinted into the entrance hall where she found Daphne waiting for her. Kali slid to a halt, and Daphne caught hold of her arms to steady her.

“Where have you been?” Daphne asked.

Kali rubbed at a stitch in her side. “Library.”

Daphne’s smile softened the worried lines of her brow. “Where else. We’re going to be late.”

“Sorry.” Kali hooked her arm with Daphne’s, and they started toward the Quidditch pitch. “You could have gone ahead without me and spent some quality, one-on-one time with Blaise.”

“I don’t love Quidditch _that_ much.”

Kali snorted a laugh. “Don’t let Blaise hear you say that.”

They passed a group of students lounging in the grass, playing Gobstones. Kali looked over at Daphne. “But you do love Quidditch.”

Ducking her head, Daphne nodded. “I find it exciting.”

“Yet you don’t play.”

She ducked her head further. “It isn’t ladylike.”

Kali’s eyes rolled before she could stop them. The wizarding world had ground to a halt in 1692 with the enactment of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Without Muggle influence, progress had taken a backseat and feminism had yet to spread among the pure-blood crowd.

“My mums played professionally,” said Kali.

“I know, but—” Daphne stopped in her tracks and dragged Kali to a halt beside her. “Wait. ‘Mums’?”

Daphne's arm squeezed around Kali's, and Kali tried not to wince at the sudden tightness.

“My mother and her wife.”

“Wife?” Shifting on the path, Daphne rolled a pebble beneath her left foot, her hands hidden in her sleeves, the loose fabric balled between her fingers. She cast glances left and right and cleared her throat. “As in girlfriend, right? As in a girl who was your mother’s friend?”

Kali dislodged her arm from Daphne’s grip and flexed it while frowning at her friend. “No. As in, the woman she was married to.”

Colour drowned Daphne’s pallor, and her features froze in a wide-eyed expression. “Oh. Your mother was …”

“Gay.”

One advantage to the wizarding worlds' poor lawmaking was the abundance of loopholes. Where Muggles had made sure for centuries to define marriage as the union between a man and a woman, the wizarding world hadn't had the homophobic foresight. But legality did not mean acceptance.

With dread settling like a rock in the pit of her stomach, Kali asked, “Is that a problem?”

“No.” The word came out too quickly at too high a pitch. “Of course not. I’ve just never met anyone who … who had two mothers.”

The ball of dread turned into squirming worms. “That you know of.”

Daphne’s gaze dropped back to her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Which somehow made it worse. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them with only the Gobstone players’ cheers and boos and the rumble of hundreds of people in the Quidditch stands filling the void.

Kali had spoken very little of her mothers since arriving at Hogwarts because very few people had asked her about them. Sirius Black cast a large shadow, and, in the UK, neither Asherah Morrigan nor Leilani Kalakaua could shine through it.

Daphne shuffled her feet and finally looked up with a strained smile. “I guess your mothers let you play Quidditch all the time.”

The olive branch didn’t lessen the sting, but Kali took it regardless. “They would have been happy if I had, but I prefer keeping my feet on the ground.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Daphne locked their arms once more and started down the path. “I don’t think Draco would cope with you joining the Quidditch team and stealing his spotlight.”

“That's almost reason enough to do it.”

Daphne laughed, and Kali joined her, and for the time being, any trace of tension vanished.

*******

The Gryffindor common room, spacious as it was, wasn’t designed to accommodate so many people. Not only were the Gryffindors laughing and shouting, celebrating their win, but quite a few Hufflepuffs and even Ravenclaws had crowded in too. Kali couldn’t help but notice that she was the only Slytherin as she struggled to manoeuvre through the throng.

It had been a tense match with both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams playing at their best, but Harry had caught the Snitch and his teammates had scored just enough points to keep them in the leagues.

Thrilled as she was that Harry wouldn’t be downtrodden for the next few weeks, the best part of the match, in Kali’s opinion, was when Draco and his goons had walked onto the field dressed as Dementors only for Harry to send a corporeal Patronus galloping straight at them. Draco had looked like he’d wet himself, and that was a memory Kali would cherish until the day she died.

The party was still going strong several hours after the match. From the way the Gryffindors had yet to stop cheering and dancing, it felt as though they had already won the Quidditch Cup. But one person wasn’t joining in the festivities.

Hermione sat in a corner by the empty fireplace, attempting to read an enormous book entitled _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. She was making good headway considering the racket everyone was making around her.

Kali grabbed an extra bottle of Butterbeer from one of Fred and George’s now fully-sized crates and carried it over to the nearly deserted corner.

“Need a hand with that?” she asked, plopping herself onto the arm of Hermione’s chair.

Hermione looked up with bleary eyes and blinked a couple of times before she managed to focus. “What?”

Her hair fell around her face in a mess of coarse waves and thick curls, throwing shadows over eyes that changed colour with the light—from the reddish-brown of conkers to the dark bottomlessness of a black hole. Kali downed a swallow of Butterbeer and nodded toward the book in Hermione’s lap.

Hermione followed her gaze. “Oh, no, I’m all right. Thank you.”

“I’m heading to the library if you want to come with me.” Kali used the edge of one of her rings to pull the crown cork from the second bottle and handed the Butterbeer to Hermione.

Hermione nodded her thanks and took a small sip. Behind her, on the mantle above the fireplace, a painted lion prowled in its frame. Its steady gaze remained on Kali with every turn as though it sensed that she didn’t belong here. Kali ignored it and focused on Hermione, who stared at the crowd with a slight frown creasing her brow. Kali had to give her a tap with the tips of her fingers to get her attention back.

Hermione looked from Kali to the other students and nibbled on her bottom lip. “No, I should stay. I don’t want it to look like I don’t care that we won.”

Kali could have pointed out that that was what sitting alone in a corner doing homework looked like, but she opted not to in case it came out sounding meaner than intended. “If you’re sure.”

Hermione nodded.

With a reticence that made her legs stiff and noncompliant, Kali slid from the chair’s arm and headed for the portrait hole.

Stepping into the corridor outside the Gryffindor Tower felt like leaving a sauna. Kali hadn’t realised how suffocatingly hot it had been in the lions’ den until fresh air surrounded her once more. Her back hit the wall next to Sir Cadogan’s portrait, and her eyes fell shut as the little knight called her a scurvy braggart and a rogue.

The Fat Lady had yet to resume her post after Sirius Black had slashed her portrait when she had refused to let him enter on the night of Halloween. That incident still had Kali reeling. If she thought about it too long, a sick feeling squirmed in her gut and bile burned her throat, so she endeavoured not to think about it at all.

She pushed away from the wall and started down the hallway toward the library.

As she walked past the Trophy Room, the sounds of angry muttering stopped her in her tracks. Glancing through the open door, she spotted Draco hard at work polishing an old trophy.

Professor McGonagall had been rightly furious after Draco’s stunt during the Quidditch match and had handed out more detentions than Kali had ever seen her do in one go before. Evidently, the punishments had been effective immediately.

“Having fun?” asked Kali, startling Draco so severely that he fumbled with the trophy and dropped it.

“What are you doing here?” he spat, bending to pick up the award and checking it for dents.

She leaned against the doorway and glanced around at the many awards, trophies, cups, plates, shields, statues, and medals all kept in crystal glass displays. “Just passing by.”

“Then pass by faster.”

 _“Someone’s in a foul mood,”_ said Pan as he turned into a hummingbird and flew around the bottles of Butterbeer that Fred and George were juggling.

“I wanted to thank you,” said Kali. “It was so nice of you to make a fool of yourself for everyone’s entertainment.”

Draco’s pale skin took on a pink tinge. Kali thought that he might hurl the trophy at her face. He looked like he wanted to, but he merely tightened his grip on it, white-knuckling the delicate handles. He pressed his thin lips together, draining what little colour they had, and glared at her.

She grinned and turned to leave, but something caught her eye.

Prominently displayed on the left wall, beneath a sign that read: _Hogwarts Awards for Services to the School_ , was a collection of small gold shields, each about the size of Kali’s splayed hand. On one was the inscription, “T. M. Riddle”.

Kali stalked closer, spotting similar shields with Harry and Ron’s names engraved on them. She would have to ask them what they had done to earn those, although the Basilisk carcass decaying several hundred feet beneath the castle might have had something to do with it. She heard Draco move behind her, giving her a wide berth until he could see what she did.

“You’d think that after he started killing people they’d have removed this,” she said, eyeing Tom Riddle’s well-kept award.

Draco didn’t say anything. When Kali glanced over her shoulder, she saw him staring at the little shield with something close to awe.

Jaw rolling, she shook her head and left the Trophy Room.

By the time she made it to the library, she was late, but she saved herself some time by knowing exactly where Theodore would be.

The library was huge, with tens of thousands of books, thousands of shelves, hundreds of narrow rows, and just as many places to sit, but humans are creatures of habit. Every student at Hogwarts had their favourite place to study. While Kali preferred the window seat in the Muggle literature section, Theodore could always be trusted to have his things spread out on one of the long tables among the dusty old law books that were seldom read by students.

His bag leaned against one of the chairs, but Theodore was nowhere in sight. She was about to start looking for him when she heard a creak behind her and glanced back to see him heading her way.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he said when he was close enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice.

She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, and she took a moment to process that information. She had been going to class with him for the last five months, yet she had failed to notice that he was a head taller than her. She blamed it on his lanky build; she had assumed that his height would match it.

“Sorry. I got side-tracked,” she said.

“Shall we get started?” He waved her toward a seat, his long limbs moving awkwardly and his shins banging against the leg of the table when he sat down in front of her.

“Which subject would you like my help with?” she asked.

“Arithmancy.” He pulled his book from his bag along with sheets of parchment and a quill.

Kali had nothing on her to fill up her side of the table. She could only sit and watch as Theodore set one item after another onto the table, all neatly organised. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was woefully unprepared for this tutoring session.

“I don’t understand the second exercise of the worksheet that Professor Vector gave us to do for Monday.”

That was easy enough.

Kali spent the next three-quarters of an hour going over numerical formulas with Theodore, covering the entire worksheet that was due on Monday and a few of the previous ones too. He was a fast learner and eager to do well, but he struggled with some of Professor Vector’s briefer explanations on when and how to apply each formula.

Madam Pince came to kick them out before curfew, and Theodore packed up his things as efficiently as he had unpacked them. Every quill and inkwell had its prearranged spot in his bag. Kali half expected to see labels pointing out what went where.

“Thank you for your help,” he said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder as they headed for the door.

“It was no trouble.”

He held the door for her, and she led the way to a stairwell that would get them to the lower levels.

“Would you mind if we made it a regular thing?” he asked. “Once a week or once every other week, whatever works for you?”

“I can do it once a week.” Preferably during a weekday, then she might think to bring her bag. “How about Wednesdays?”

He shook his head. “The chess club meets on Wednesdays.”

“Thursdays then,” she said with an indifferent shrug.

He nodded his agreement, and they went down the next set of steps. “Do you play chess?”

“Sometimes. My gran says I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Your grandmother is Freyja Morrigan, right?”

Kali looked up at him, but his gaze stayed on the floor, watching for the trick steps. “That’s right.”

“I saw her name in that newspaper article last month, the one about your father.”

She bit down a smile but couldn’t hide the spring in her gait that had her skipping the next couple of steps.

It had only taken one article in the _Daily Prophet_ to plant the seed of doubt. Now, at least once a week, a journalist from one newspaper or another added their theories about Sirius Black’s innocence. Gran had told Kali once that doubt was the key to winning hopeless trials, and right now it was spreading like Fiendfyre.

“Maybe we could play chess sometime,” he said when they reached the dungeons.

“Sure.”

He headed for the common room, but at a grumble of complaint from her stomach for missing dinner, she stopped following, veering instead toward the kitchens. “I’m going this way.”

“It’s past curfew,” he said, sparing a glance at his watch. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Only if I get caught,” she said with a smirk that bordered on a grin. She waved and went in search of food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Summer got unexpectedly busy with friends and family all deciding now's the perfect time to move and an internship that had to take place mostly online.
> 
> Unfortunately, I don't know what my class schedule will be like yet, so this may be my last update for a while. I don't want to sacrifice quality (?) for speed.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you when I see you!


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